This Modern Age
by ruby gillis
Summary: Twenty years after the affair of the old Dark jug is settled the Penhallows and Darks must choose a husband for their beloved young kinswoman. Read and review!
1. Chapter 1

_The riches of life are not silver and gold  
But fine sons and daughters when we are grown old,  
I pray that when years shall have silvered our hair  
We shall know the delights of that old-fashioned pair!_

-Edgar Guest

Once upon a time, in the sleepy little red-rose village of Rose River – no, that will never do. Any story about the Dark and Penhallow family can _not_ be started in such a way – a way that smacks of fairyland and romance. Not that there won't be romance here – there will be – gobs and gobs of it. Only the Darks and Penhallows were not the kind of family that would ever attract anything of fairyland. Not intentionally, at least. It would be unfair to mislead you by beginning their story that way.

Rose River was overrun with Darks and Penhallows. So was Three Hills and Indian Spring, for that matter. Or – they _had_ been. It seemed to some of the old guard that the good family stock was 'dying out.' Once it was said that if you were a Penhallow you married a Dark – if you were a Dark you married a Penhallow. To marry anyone else was simply unheard of. Why would any body do it? But the times had become shockingly modern and a vast number of 'outsider' marriages had been consummated in the last generation or two. There were any number of Mitchells, Montgomerys, and Milfords creeping up in the genealogies. It would never do, some of the old ones reflected.

The Darks and Penhallows by name protected themselves by treating these outsiders only slightly better than one would treat a convict recently released from prison. If you were a Milford _nee_ Penhallow, you still had your place within the clan, but it was a lower place, of course. But ah! – if you were to the manner born – a _true _Dark, a _true_ Penhallow – you were free to rule the earth. Or 'boss' it to death, as some other folks said. The possibilities were endless for you. Little Adrian Penhallow, according to family lore, had once asked his Sunday-school teacher if the 'Chosen People' in the Bible referred to the Darks? Or was it the Penhallows? "Both of them," the Sunday School teacher had said laconically. Her grandmother had been a Penhallow _nee_ Dark.

Every village has a clan like this one – or if it doesn't, it should have. _Someone_ needs to manage things, after all. There hardly seemed any reason why other families should live among them, except to be on the fringes. Peter Penhallow owned the newspaper, and so the paper staunchly refused to report on anything other than clan goings-on. They had had to make an exception for news during the years of the war, and even then Great-Aunt Thora Dark, who had gotten rather senile before her time, had asked quite seriously whether Churchill was the son of Jessie Dark from Three Hills. Great-Uncle Murray had told her 'no' – with the air of a man who thought that perhaps it would have served that gentleman better if he _were_. 'Uncle' Dandy Dark had somehow worked his way up to town councilman – a position of prestige that amazed even his own kin. No one had had a very large opinion of Dandy after the affair of the old Dark jug some years before. But as Kipling would say …

If you were married anywhere in the district, it was by the Rev. Arthur Dark. That is, if you were Presbyterian. If you weren't, who gave a hand who married you? It was a thing of no importance. It could hardly be said you were legitimately married at all and they were all sure to look at you askance after that.

Perhaps you had to have a dress made. If you didn't want it cheap and sleazy you called old 'Aunt' Margaret Penhallow over at Whispering Winds. Cousin James Penhallow if you wanted a good deal on an automobile. Louis Dark handled your money for you, and if you were caught up in a nasty legal matter, you called Tom Penhallow. _Not_ his cousin, Thomas Penhallow – he had been an embezzler. Yes, even a Penhallow could be an embezzler. The Darks and Penhallows had their faults and they recognized them. The clan was not so proud as all that. All the same, where an ordinary embezzler would have been tarred and feathered and outcast into the Land of Nod, Lawyer Thomas was merely looked down upon. He was, after all was said and done, one of their own caste.

And if you had anything to do with the business of being born or dying or anything in between, from toothache to tinnitus, you called Dr. Roger Penhallow. If you called anyone else, your family should do nothing less than give you up for dead. The clan could not ever agree on much – but they all agreed in loving Roger. In recent years as the old guard began to fail and die off, he had been awarded the long-coveted position of head of the clan. The awarding of such a title had once been based on seniority but the sad fact of the times was that with age no longer necessarily came wisdom. 'Uncle' Pippin Dark, for example, was the oldest member of the family at eighty-five. But he was far from being the sharpest of them. And besides, a rumour had been started some years ago that he wasn't the Darkiest Dark of them. There was some doubt as to his patronage that had plagued Pippin in his early life. His clansmen now, because of his advanced age, afforded Pippin the respect of not mentioning it – before his face.

So Dr. Roger was at the helm. He was a splendid old gentleman – he was one of the last _true_ gentleman of those times – he was in her late fifties. His hair had been shockingly red in his youth but had prematurely weathered to a distinguished silver. The clan was glad for that – it would have been so hard to put their fate in the hands of one with _such_ red hair! But Dr. Roger's hair had been silver for so many years that they had almost, if not totally, forgotten the red. But even those that remembered forgave him for it. _That_ was how much they loved Roger.

He was the richest man in a rich clan. Beechurst was the finest house in the Dark _or_ Penhallow connections. It was very near to the junction of Rose River and Indian Spring. A white house with a Grecian-style front porch and columns. A bay-view behind it and a river view before it. Artists photographed it for post-cards, an three years ago a visiting millionaire had offered Dr. Roger an ungodly sum to buy it. Roger had refused. It was seen as the seat of all things Penhallow and Dark – it was where they held their old, traditional levees – their Christmas dinners – where they celebrated clan accomplishments and holidays. It was the only house with a grand dining room big enough to hold them all. No, to sell it would be a thing of sacrilege. _Especially_ to a Yankee!

All the same, everyone wondered who Roger would leave it to. He couldn't live forever, you know, and though he was only fifty-nine his strain of Penhallows were known to have poor constitutions! Isn't that how it always went? Shoemakers being unshod, and all that. Dr. Roger's wife had died when her children were very young and some people said that Roger himself had never recovered. His wife had been _nee_ Penhallow, but it had very much been a love-match between them. But you would never know of the tragedy from Roger's countenance. He was still as good-humored as ever, though the cynical quirk at the corner of his mouth which had disappeared for a time now came back and became more pronounced. He ascended to his position as clan leader good-naturedly when it was required of him, though he could be fearsome to any one of his kin who did not behave in a manner befitting those born to the purple. When Mrs. Toynbee Dark had married for a fourth time, aged seventy, Roger had been quite curt to her about it. _So_ curt that Mrs. Toynbee had gone straight into town and had her marriage annulled out of fear of being exocommunicated by her own.

Dr. Roger had three children. They only spoke of two of them. Howie had been killed in the disastrous Dieppe Raid of the last war, and it had been a terrible blow for the family. Besides loving Roger they had all agreed on loving Howie. He had been such a jolly, golden-haired, upstanding chap! Roger went very white around the lips when he was mentioned, so the Darks and the Penhallows simply refrained from ever mentioning him. Even though they would have dearly loved to talk of certain circumstances surrounding his death – for instance, _had _he been engaged to Adrienne Dark? They were never able to get it out of _her_. She was as closed-mouthed as the grave in which they had laid her love, 'somewhere in France.' Her kinsmen and Howard's dearly would have liked to know.But it was a question that they left to the ages. That was how much they loved Roger.

Jacob was the other boy. Younger – and _he_ hadn't been studying to be a doctor. It would have been easy for them to love Jacob quite as much as they had all loved Howie except for two disconcerting facts. Jacob worked in a shop. He had no pretensions to medicine, or the law, which were the only two professions seen as suitable for a son of Dr. Roger. Also, he had been engaged to a girl in Lowbridge before he had gone off to fight. A pretty girl – from the Blythe family. The Blythes – and Merediths – were a respectable enough clan, almost so long-established to rival the Darks and Penhallows in prestige. Any other family would have rejoiced at their house joining to that. But no matter how nice Joyce Meredith might be, she was not a Dark _or_ Penhallow, and there was a tacit understanding that the sons of Dr. Roger, at least, _must_ marry within their own kind. They loved Jacob, even if they could not be completely proud of him. But they all supposed that this meant _he_ would not inherit Beechurst.

That left only Rebecca Penhallow. She was named for a certain old austere relative that the fickle family had quite forgotten. 'Aunt' Becky had been a great beauty in her day, but even those that did remember her considered that Roger's Rebecca was quite the prettier. She had her long-dead little mother's white, moonlit skin, and dusky little brown marigold eyes. Her brow was high and fine – she was said to have the finest arms in either Dark or Penhallow connections – and her hair! Oh, the clan might have disliked Roger's red hair, but how proud they were of Rebecca's! Such lovely, living red-gold hair. She had eschewed modern tradition and refused to have it cut. It fell almost to her waist and when the sun hit it, it was a living thing.

Rebecca was the baby of the family. She was twenty-five years old. There was never any report of her having a beau – the Darks and Penhallow girls still had 'beaux,' no matter what _other_ girls may have. But Charlie Dark from Three Hills had drowned himself several years ago in the river and it was always bandied about that he had done so because Rebecca would not agree to marry him. But they could not know for sure if that was the reason. Nobody from Three Hills had any sense. And the young maiden in question would neither confirm nor deny.

When Rebecca had turned eighteen she had had her 'coming out.' During the war – if anyone else had had it would have been seen as a terrible extravagance. But they loved Roger, remember, and Roger loved his girl above all other things. Rebecca had danced with every young man between the ages of eighteen and forty and they had all expected her to be married soon after. Many an afternoon had been spent in speculation as to who she would take.

"Geoff Penhallow?"

"Too frivolous. _I_ wouldn't want Roger's only daughter marrying such a fool. He went off to fight when he was only seventeen and hadn't even enough sense to keep from being wounded."

"Laurie Dark?"

"Laurie Dark was jilted two summers ago by Matilda Morrison. You can't expect any woman to take him after that. And _she_ only a Morrison from Three Hills!"

"Eberhard Penhallow?"

"_I've_ always thought he was his aunt Elaine's son, though his mother swears he isn't. But you remember how they took that mysterious trip to Boston just before he was born? And Elaine was never the same afterwards, you know."

"John Dark?"

"Which one?" Dubiously – because there were two John Darks. One was a strapping boy of twenty though his clan thought he may be a half-wit. This because he had been at Cambridge and now wrote poetry all the live-long day. The other was forty if he was a day. On further reflection, neither would do.

"Corey Dark!" This said triumphantly. Carey Dark had been neither wounded nor jilted and his parentage was not in question and he did not write poetry and he was neither too young nor too old. He would do – he would do! But then a sigh of sudden rememberance:

"Corey's engaged to his cousin Bertha Dark over in Harmony." Not that any red-blooded Dark man should not drop a Bertha for a Rebecca – and such a Rebecca! But that strain of Harmony Darks was rather peculiar and they kept mostly to themselves.

Such speculative dealings went on for many a year but to no avail, for Rebecca Penhallow reached the august age of twenty-five with nary a beau in sight. Finally the clan-gossips exhausted all the Penhallow and Dark possibilities and reflected that something must be done. For Rebecca _would_ marry a Penhallow or Dark. It was the only thing for a proper Penhallow girl to do, even in this modern age.


	2. Chapter 2

Roger Penhallow had only recently begun to bemoan his daughter's lack of 'suitors.' He liked the word better than 'beau' – for any man who was to marry Rebecca would have to, first and foremost, be _suitable_. Dr. Roger was a reasonable man but he recognized certain old social constructions when they were plain before his face. He would not have minded her putting it off for a few years more – only none of them were getting any younger. Rebecca herself included. There were little frown lines of worry on her face which had begun to faintly mirror those on his own, and which had not been there before Howie's death. And if Rebecca had only had _one_ suitor he might rest easy. But she had never had any. Again, the doctor was reasonable, but he had a fiercely competitive streak. When Palmer Dark's swarthy little girl had beaux hounding her continually and his Rebecca had not a one – well, Dr. Roger did not like that.

He also had a selfish reason for wanting her married. He knew he could not live forever. He would like to dance at his daughter's wedding before his joints got too old and arthritic to allow him to do so. He wanted to live long enough to see his grandchildren – to see them grow up – so that he could have the chance to impart to him some of the wisdom he had gleaned through the decades about living _joyously_. It seemed that living joyously was becoming harder and harder to do nowadays. And perhaps – Roger held out hope that one of Rebecca's dear little dream-children would be a little girl – as sweet as his own Gay had been. He would like to see that something of her had carried on.

Roger had a sense of humor and so he went to his daughter in twilight where she was reading on the Grecian porch and said,

"All right now, 'Becca – I hate to see you spoiling your eyes on a lovely night like this when you should be out with a young man."

Rebecca lazily and coolly marked the place in her book. She did everything with a cool and lazy air that made it seem she was in no great hurry to see what everyone else was in a fuss about. It was something that infuriated the young women of the clan – they could never replicate that air, try as they might before their bedroom mirrors – and intrigued the young men.

"I would," said the cool Rebecca, "Be out with a young man if I found I liked any of them as well as I like this book."

"What about that," said Dr. Roger to his daughter, putting his hands in his pockets and jingling a ring of keys that was there. There were always keys about Dr. Roger's personage – it gave him a cheerful, hopeful, trustworthy aura. "What about that – hm."

"_What_ about it, Father?"

"Suppose I made a proposition to you, 'Becca – I'm an old man and probably a fool – just listen to me now – and tell me what you think of my idea."

Rebecca listened and her eyes grew mirthful. When Dr. Roger had finished speaking, she looked at him with laughter on her cool face. Something about her eyes was grim and set. But she said, for she had a sense of humour, too:

"All right, Father, I'll take you up on it. What fun it will be!"

"And should we hold an old-fashioned levee then, to tell the other folks?"

"Quite. Oh, what fun it will be!"

There had not been a clan 'levee' in some time. The last had been about Cousin Jessamine Dark's baby. She had named it Genevieve. There was a distant cousin Genevieve Dark of Bay Silver who had, some years ago, run away with a man who was not her husband. Ever since that time all upstanding members of the clan had been at odds with the said adulteress. Consequently, a name like 'Genevieve' could not be condoned.

All the Darks and Penhallows within fifty miles were itching for another levee. Not that they were any pleasant things. They actually had a propensity to be the opposite – horrid, wretched, sarcastic, funny airings of old clan ghosts and skeletons that were best left buried or at least shut up in closets. But the Darks and Penhallows were the kind of folk who hated dullness above all else and they felt at the moment that things had grown positively stifling. There was not even a wedding or christening to look forward to – nor a funeral, unless something unforeseen happened. For everyone was in perfect health, thanks to Roger's ministrations, and Uncle Pippin, their eldest clansmen, was sure to live out his century. It was just like God to let Pippin live a hundred years on earth when worthier souls had been taken before their time.

In the olden days of the clan a notice that a levee was to occur had been printed in the newspaper. But that had been abandoned with the advent of the telephone. Every Dark and Penhallow had one, now. But Dr. Roger did not even need to use that to spread the word. He simply told Mercy Penhallow that he would be holding a levee at Beechurst on the twenty-first of June at three o'clock. All members of the family to the fourth level of relationship knew about it by nightfall.

And no one knew what it was to be about! Every person in the family who heard of the levee immediately thought back over their own recent doings and wondered if the meeting were being held for the sole purpose of raking him or her over the coals? Thekla Penhallow, who had just had her hair dyed for the first time, lay awake all night in a cold sweat over it. Roger could be fearsome when he wanted to be – and surely he would be over something so serious as the dyeing of one's hair? She reflected that it was a mean world that didn't even allow you a bit of vanity as you backslid into old age.

When Mrs. Denzil Penhallow had rung up Beechurst to see if there was anything she might bring to the levee – Mrs. Denzil Penhallow had taken a cooking class in town and never missed a chance to 'show it off' – she was electrified by Dr. Roger's amused response:

"Bring your sons!"

2

The appointed day arrived and the clan were ravenous with curiosity. The news had not leaked and no one could fathom what this levee was to be about. Uncle David Dark prayed over it. Cousin Virginia Powell, _nee_ Penhallow, had consulted her Ouija over it. The clan thought the both of them fools. As if a lofty God had no more important things to worry about than this levee! And as for the Ouija board:

"It's sinful," said Palmer Dark – darkly. Everyone wished Virginia would give up her Ouija. It was said that she used it to try and contact her dead husband. "It's a tool of the Bad Man Below."

"_He_ might know something about this, if no one else does," said Drowned John Penhallow with a guffaw.

A buffet had been spread in the great Beechurst dining room and everyone was glad that the tradition of serving food at levees had come back into being. Every person to the last sixth cousin was in attendance. The room was hot and close and while they waited everyone glowered at everyone else, trying to figure who had so erred to be the cause of an occasion such as this.

Old Mercy Penhallow, as contrary to her name as a person could be, who knew all the clan foibles but dwelt not on the triumphs, felt positively certain that the topic at hand was Peter Penhallow's moustache. He had just returned from a 'jaunt' to the Yukon territories to photograph some sort of wild bear. And he had let his moustache grow long while he was away and had not yet shaved it off. It was a disgrace! How could Donna bear to kiss a mouth with _such_ a moustache above it? Mercy told this to Margaret Penhallow, who shifted uneasily in her seat. She felt quite certain that _she_ was to be chided publicly before her clan today. She had made Gwen Dark's new dress and the skirt was _so_ short. Margaret had not felt right about making the skirt so short, but that's how Gwen had wanted it. The clan had been in uproar about it when the dress was worn in church three Sundays ago. Not one of the Darks or Penhallows had not forgiven Margaret for it yet.

Mrs. Alpheus Penhallow was in agony. _Was_ old Mercy whispering about her? She had never been the same since her wayward daughter Nan had gotten a divorce from her husband. True, they all felt that Nan _should_ divorce said husband, for the clan as a whole was none too fond of him, but when she had done so it was beyond the Pale. There had already been a tumultuous, dramatic levee when it occurred but perhaps it was to be brought up again? Mrs. Alpheus trembled in fear.

Drowned John Penhallow folded his hands over his chest and felt contented. He was quite sure none of his behavior had been so bad as to warrant a levee such as this. Of course he swore terribly but he had done so for so long that no one really noticed it anymore. It was expected of him. They had all resigned themselves to it. Drowned John occasionally, in his old age, took a tipple, but not frequently. His last drunken escapade had caused a crying-out. But he felt sure that no one had seen him coming staggeringly up the lane last week when he'd done it again. Unless – he _had_ passed a man in the car on the road and he had always wondered if it was Dandy Dark. Dandy _would_ tell Roger about it. And though Drowned John _said_ he was afraid of no man nor beast, he hated when 'young' Roger went into one of his stern furies. Drowned John suddenly became despairingly sure that it _had_ been Dandy in the car. By asterisk – it was just like Dandy to be where he wasn't wanted – which was every where.

Brian Dark put his arm around his little wife and wondered what Drowned John was swearing about to himself. Brian had the reputation for two things. The first was that he did not care what his clan thought. It was a rare thing, to find a Dark or Penhallow who did not care what other Darks or Penhallows thought of him. He had fallen in love with Mae Montgomery from Indian Spring, and so he married her. What bother if she was not of the purple? She was sweet and pretty and he loved her. Let clan opinion go the way of all needless things! Brian's other reputation was for being a very happy man.

Gladys Penhallow surreptitiously wiped the lipstick from her mouth when she caught Cyrus Dark looking at her. Cyrus was admiring the pretty picture that she made in front of the window, with the light coming in on her blond hair. Gladys had forgotten to look sour for a moment and she really looked quite pretty. But Gladys only thought that perhaps he was looking at her because she _knew_ that Roger was going to speak on the subject of her make-up. Why add any more fuel to the fire? She wished she could go upstairs and wash off her eye-shadow as well.

Norma Dark saw Gladys take off her lipstick and she hated Gladys suddenly with a passion that scared her. She didn't like to hate things. It hurt her. But she couldn't help hating Gladys. Norma could see herself in the mirror of the mantelpiece, from where she sat by the door to the Grecian porch, and she studied herself closely. She had a long oval face. Her eyes were brown and wide, her lashes dark and fine. She had high-cheekbones which were quite peculiar in the Darks, and a head of jaunty almost-black curls. Her mouth was too-small a rosebud to suit the fashion but it was red enough so that she never needed lipstick. Norma knew she was not pretty but she thought she was better looking than horrible, gossiping Gladys. And yet Gladys had a reputation for being a clan beauty. No one took any notice of Norma. She did not think that she had anything to do with the levee. Why should she? _Someone_ would have to notice her in order for that to be the case.

A group of young men were congregated on the Grecian porch, smoking and doing all kinds of things which young men do when they are together in a group. They were really a fine set of young men. The clan was proud of its men. There were two V.C. medals among them and five D.C.s. They had all been so happy when they had come home from the war. The clan seemed to stop breathing when they were away and only when they were back did it breathe again.

Many peoples' eyes were on the one at the center of the group. That was Paul Penhallow. _He_ had one of the V.C.s. He was dashingly romantic-looking, with a shock of brown hair and straight black brows over peculiarly luminous eyes. You could never make up your mind as to what color Paul's eyes actually were. He had been born in the wilds of Africa, much to the clan's chagrin. His father was Peter Penhallow – of the moustache – that explained that. Paul and his sister Minnie had traveled the world over with their parents. He took his first steps in the gardens of the Alhambra and said his first world while looking up at the Great Pyramid. As a boy he did his fishing on the banks of the River Amazon.

Paul had been studying at Oxford when Canada joined the war and when he went off to fight they were finally proud of him. But it was not until he'd gotten the V.C. that they loved him. He was the first boy in the district to get such an honor. His mother proudly displayed the medal on his mantelpiece until Paul saw it there one day and fired it out of the window, telling her that he didn't want to see the d—d thing again as long as his lived. Paul _was_ Drowned John's grandson – that confirmed it.

Paul rather hoped that he was the cause of so much clan uproar and he confided as much to Clifford Dark, who laughed with them. The general clan consensus was that it was amazing how well Clifford had turned out. His parents were – queer. No one had ever been able to make neither heads nor tails of Joscelyn or Hugh Dark since that business with them so long ago. It was best to be forgotten now. Anyway, people said that they had spoiled their little son. They had no other children. Other people blamed the entire kit and caboodle of their eccentricities on the Spanish blood from a long ago ancestor. But Cliff did not look as if he had one drop of any Spanish blood in him. He was tall and golden and fair.

Samuel Beelby Phemister Penhallow was a 'lad' of twenty-eight. One always thought of him as a 'lad.' Some of the family's Scotch ancestry showed in him. He had red hair and he was strapping, but it was rumoured that he cried when he played his fiddle. He had been named after two seafaring ancestors. The story went that Nellie Dark had 'refused' him because she didn't think she could hear his name in the wedding vows without laughing. Young Sam, who had never met either of his name-sakes, could not appreciate being named for them. He was thinking of getting his name changed and thought he might bring it up if the rest of the levee wasn't too full of caterwauling. It would be better than holding a separate levee on that issue.

The only one standing apart from the group was Jasper Dark. He was quite an ugly man. You noticed it the first time you met him. His hair had many cow-licks and stuck up all over his head. His nose was snub and one of his eyes green. The other was blue. The colors did not go together. Freckles – there was never anyone in either clan who was so freckled as he. And his mouth! A nasty young cousin had once compared it to a gash in pie dough. A cruel remark – but it was so apt – and it had stuck. Jasper was rather tall – it was the only compliment that might be paid his appearance. He had been in the war but had been awarded neither VC nor DC, although he had gotten shot in the leg for his trouble. It had never healed properly and so he consequently, he walked with a limp that gave him a jaunty, rolling gait.

Jasper could hold his end of a conversation, which was more than could be said for some of the handsomer members of his clan. But no one dared speak to him of anything terribly scandalous because Jasper wrote for the Rose River_ Tribune_. Every member of the clan was deathly afraid he would take to writing stories about _them_. His mother was Thekla Penhallow, and Thekla had always been a gossip.

Jasper knew that his clan considered him somewhat of a disgrace, but he did not mind. He was a jolly fellow and was contented to sit back on the fringes of things and watch, a newspaperman's delight evident upon his countenance.

There were several other young men congregated there. Jasper watched them. They were fine men, just as Dark and Penhallow-y as the rest, and we might have gotten a chance to examine them in depth, but Roger chose that moment to step down into the dining room, and begin the levee. Rebecca was at his side.


	3. Chapter 3

Rebecca Penhallow looked so pretty as she sat down with her father before the mantelpiece that all her clan felt very proud of her. They spent a few moments before Roger spoke watching her. Rebecca was wearing a dress Margaret had made for her – a silvery, lacy, whisper of a dress – and Margaret, who had never been considered a beauty of any sort felt proud that this glowing creature was wearing something of her creation. _She_, old Margaret Penhallow, had had a hand in creating some of that loveliness. It thrilled her, for she loved beautiful things. Mercy Penhallow, who was not often charitable to others with her opinions, thought now that Rebecca was by far the handsomest girl in the clan. It was too bad that she would probably die young, as her mother had. That sort of trouble ran in bloodlines. Gladys was peeved that she had taken off her lipstick. Rebecca's mouth was so rosy. Gladys suddenly felt very insignificant.

Norma Dark suddenly clenched her hands on her lap. Why was so much given to some girls and so little to others? She would have been happy to be considered 'tolerably pretty.' Norma had never been called pretty before in her life. Not even by an aged relative. But she felt that Rebecca would not be satisfied with 'pretty.' Really beautiful girls never are.

Drowned John thought that little Becky Penhallow was a d—d pretty girl. She reminded him of his first wife, Jennie. Jennie had been shouted to death by Drowned John many years before. He had gotten in the habit of thinking of her fondly after her death, though he had been none to fond of her in her life.

Young Sam saw Rebecca take her seat and thought that she was very beautiful – but somehow he preferred Nelle Dark's simple prettiness. Nelle was sitting by the staircase with her old mother and grandmother. She saw Young Sam watching and turned away with a scowl. Which in turn, got Sam's highland Scotch blood boiling. Why the devil should she turn away – the little hussy – when he was an upstanding Penhallow and her family was only a rather off-shoot branch of the Darks? He'd like to go and slap her face for it, yes he would! He'd make her face him – sometime – or he wasn't Samuel Beelby Phemister Penhallow!

Paul Penhallow nudged Clifford and said something that made them both laugh, and his sister Minnie watched them. She thought at once what a lovely pair Rebecca and Paul would make. Rebecca was so lovely – Minnie held no aspirations of clan beauty and fame for herself – but it was known that Paul was the handsomest man in their connection. She was very proud of him. He was quite Rebecca's male counterpart in good looks – what a shame the two of them had never been 'sweet' on each other!

Brian Dark held his little wife close. Yes, Roger's girl was a beaut, but there was no woman here who could hold a candle to his own Mae. Palmer Dark looked from them to Rebecca and suddenly missed his own wife, who had died the year before, unbearably. Jasper watched them all watching, his shrewd, mismatched eyes missing nothing, his ungainly mouth twisted into an amused smile.

Then Roger spoke.

('About d—d time!' thought both Drowned John and his grandson.)

"I've asked you all to come here today because Rebecca has decided to be married."

Rebecca! Married! But to whom? Had Corey Dark been convinced to throw over Bertha? Or – was the unthinkable happening – would Roger's daughter marry an _outsider_? A hundred pairs of eyes suddenly fixed glaringly on Bobby Hodgkins from over-the-bay. Bobby was Dark nor Penhallow, but had just popped in after hearing of the levee to see what the fuss was going to be about. But all the clan thought that perhaps _he_ meant to marry Rebecca! Bobby began to reflect that perhaps he should not have come. He started to sweat.

Uncle Pippin, front and center, decided to speak. Though Roger was clan leader, Uncle Pippin felt that he was deserving of _some_ respect, and that he should have known about it before everyone else.

"Who are you wanting to marry, child?" He put the question quite bluntly to Rebecca.

Rebecca only smiled again by way of reply and read from the piece of paper in her hand. It was a wedding announcement. She had written it herself.

"_Miss Rebecca Gayle Penhallow, of Beechurst, Rose River, was married on Sunday, the twenty-first of June, 19—_" Rebecca named a date exactly a year away. "_She was married by the Reverend Arthur Dark at the Rose River Presbytarian Church_ – I won't have anyone but Arthur marrying me. So you'd better put off going to the foreign missions for another year at least, Artie. _She wore her mother's cream silk tulle wedding-dress and veil, and carried a sheaf of mauve iris. _Aunt Margaret, won't you give me some of your mauve irises to carry? They don't grow as beautifully anywhere else. Mother loved your mauve irises."

Margaret nodded assent – somewhat stunned. _Who_ was little Becky going to marry?

"_The bridesmaids wore yellow chiffon_," Rebecca went on, amusement gleaming in her lovely marigold eyes. "_They were Gladys Penhallow, Eleanor Dark, Norma Dark_" – here Norma raised her strong black eye-brows. She had not been expected to be asked. "_Miranda Penhallow, Gloria Dark, Isobel Dark, Faith Penhallow, and Hope Penhallow. Charity Penhallow was not asked because the bride had not forgotten that Charity stole a hair-ribbon from her during their childhoods, which was most_ un_charitable of her. Some people thought that eight bridesmaids were too many, but the bride did not care what anyone in her clan thought about it."_

Paul Penhallow, who had been listening from the porch, gave a sudden, delighted laugh. Denzil Penhallow mopped his brow.

"She isn't really going to put those last lines in there!" He looked really quite agitated. The aforementioned Charity was his daughter.

"Of course she isn't," said Uncle Pippin with a sneer. "She's just put it in to get a rise out of us. Shut up now and let her finish. Now, 'Becca, go on and get to the important part."

"There's not much more," said Rebecca. "_The couple will honey-moon in South America _– I've always wanted to see South America – _and will reside in Beechurst upon their return._ That's it, Uncle Pippin." Rebecca folded the paper and slipped it in the pocket of her pretty dress. She looked amused as ever and very satisfied. The clan stared at each other in horror.

"Who is to be the damn' groom?" thundered Drowned John finally. Drowned John always got very angry when he thought a particular piece of information was being purposely withheld from his knowledge. In other circumstances the clan might have looked at him ruefully for his profanity but at this moment they all thought he had summer up the situation perfectly.

Rebecca decided to let them in on the joke at last.

"Father has decided it was high time I was married," she said forthrightly. "I agree with him. I'm not in love with any of you – " this was directed to the throng of young men who were now coming in from the Grecian porch, " – but I know half of you are mad about me. You've one year to convince me to fall in love with you and at the end of it I'll marry the one of you I like best. We'll just go ahead with wedding preparations as if we did know who it was going to be and I'll announce in church one week before the wedding who I've chosen. Then we will be married – and Father will give to us Beechurst as a wedding present."

Roger stood. "_And_ ten thousand dollars," he said. "For my 'Becca must live in style."

"Whew!" said Cliff Dark. "Whew!"

Whew, indeed! They all stared – they had never heard anything like it. It was unorthodox and against everything the clan held as sacred. But – it was exciting, by Gad! Exciting – but completely complicated. Once again, Paul Penhallow began to laugh. He slapped his knee delightedly.

"Why don't you choose someone of your own liking and cut down on all this trouble?" asked David Dark with a scowl.

"If it were up to me," said Rebecca, "I wouldn't choose any one. I don't especially want to be married at all. But Father thinks I must be."

"Does he have to be a Dark or Penhallow?" spoke up Bob Hodgkins.

"Yes," said Rebecca plainly.

Bob was not at all put out. He was still glad he came. The food had been top-notch and he wouldn't have missed this excitement for anything.

"I know you want to talk this over," said Rebecca to all assembled. "So I am going upstairs to read my book and you all should do just that." She hied herself up the curving staircase – the Darks and Penhallows were all so proud of that curving staircase – and her little silver slippers winked like stars.

Everyone left just stared at one another. Had they ever – ? In such a fashion – ? Murray Dark, who had just been diagnosed with heart disease, resolved that he must live at least one year longer to see how this all turned out. Paul Penhallow laughed and laughed. What a bright little creature cousin 'Becca was! Flaunting clan tradition in all of their faces! What a good joke! Minnie Penhallow was quite shocked by the lack of convention in it but thought again what a good match it would be if Rebecca married Paul. Norma Dark clasped her arms around her knees and lowered her brow. Aunt Margaret began to cry a little – it seemed only yesterday Becky had been a dear little baby – Mercy began to jabber – Cliff Dark and Harold Dark, cousins and best friends, got into a row over which one of them Rebecca would take. For surely she would take _one_ of them. The repercussions of that row lasted until their deaths many years later. Mrs. Alpheus was so glad that the levee hadn't been about Nan's divorce that she went into hysterics, and Uncle Pippin banged his cane on the floor to try and re-establish some decorum. Dr. Roger watched it all with laughing eyes and Jasper stood on the fringes and took it in, as he was wont to do. His keen eyes did not miss any thing.

2

It took Miranda Penhallow – called Minnie – ten minutes to decide that she _would_ get Paul to take Rebecca. It was never a question of whether Rebecca would be the one to take Paul. Of course any girl would jump at him, she thought loyally. She knew that her brother had a reputation for being very handsome. And it was widely known that he had been a V.C. He and Becky had always been great chums as well as fourth cousins. And it would be such a triumph to have one of the 'Peter Penhallows' living at Beechurst, the very seat of power of the Dark and Penhallow clan!

For Minnie knew beyond a doubt that her strain of Penhallows was seen as a bit of an abomination as far as Penhallows went. Father had often flouted clan tradition and expectation. When he was a boy he had run away from home and worked his way around the world, and he had only very recently come back to live. Peter was always jaunting off to foreign lands and wild places and staying there until he was tired of them. Then he would go to another place and do it again. It was queer. Why should any Dark or Penhallow want to live anywhere but in their part of P.E. Island? They all thought Donna was seen as a shameless hussy for allowing him to do so – and for going with him.

Mother had worn breeches and bobbed her hair long before any other woman in the clan had done so. And – she was Drowned John's daughter. If Donna Penhallow had stayed home and lived a decorous, respectable life, they still would have not forgiven her for being Drowned John's daughter. Both Donna and Peter had decided a while ago that they would do exactly as they pleased. So they did. And it might have been all right, Minnie thought, except that Mother and Father were pleased to do so many scandalous things!

Mother smoked cigarettes and wore sun-glasses. She had her hair permed once. Father liked to kiss her neck – _in_ _public_! And Paul was beginning to take after them so horribly. When they had finally come back to Rose River to live with Grandfather during the war, Father had declared it so amusing and had decided to stay. The clan found that almost as disheartening as his jaunts around the world. And since Paul had come back he had been the topic of _so_ many nasty rumours. Minnie had never asked but she felt sure that they were rumours. Stories about Paul driving too fast – skipping church on Sundays – going about with the French girls down by the harbour. Minnie _had_ gotten up the courage to ask about the girls.

"Do you like French girls especially?" she had asked Paul timidly one day.

Paul had been contemplative. "No," he said finally, and Minnie breathed a sigh of relief. But then Paul had said,

"I don't like any one _type_ of girl especially – I like them all the same!" Then he had winked. And of course old Aunt Mercy had been visiting Mother that day and had overheard, and by that time the next day everyone in the clan knew that Paul had said it.

The only thing that kept them from despising Paul was that V.C. – and the fact that he had been with his cousin Howie in Dieppe. They had all loved Howie and since Paul had held him in his arms as the boy drew his last breath, they felt that he had been touched with something sacred and heavenly, and so they did not talk about him as much as they might have.

Minnie was a hop-out-of-kin as far as looks went. She had pale gold hair and washed out blue eyes while her parents and her brother were dark. In truth, she looked much like Drowned John's second wife, Emmy, who had been infuriatingly sweet and placid. Minnie had inherited her air. While the rest of the inhabitants of Drowned John's house were boisterous and gave not a whit for clan traditions, Minnie worshipped them. The others were untidy and 'gave up' on housekeeping. Minnie like it neat and worried over the house's state. Her little soul craved hominess and domesticity and stability. There had been so little of it in her nineteen years on earth. The others wanted spice and adventure and fun, but Minnie wanted nothing more than to be seen as a respectable Penhallow maiden.

Which is why she wanted so badly for Paul to marry Rebecca. If that occurred, she could be a _proper_ Penhallow at last. Minnie was sure that Rebecca would say 'yes' if Paul asked her. All that she needed to do was convince Paul to _ask_.


	4. Chapter 4

Paul remarked to his cousin Cliff that he wouldn't ever be married – not for Beechurst – not for ten thousand dollars – not even if you threw another ten into the bargain. Cliff, who would have married a crone for half that amount only laughed. It was in keeping with Paul's character for him to say such a thing. He had the reputation for being a woman-hater. Paul had never come right out and said that he was a woman-hater, but he had the habit of saying things in a particular way that supported the conclusion. Old uncle Penny Dark was a decided woman-hater and Paul's little comments greatly resembled Uncle Penny's at times. And remember, he _was_ Drowned John's grandson! What other conclusion could be drawn?

For example, as they were going out of Beechurst and to their cars Nelle Dark paid Paul a compliment. She only did so because Young Sam was standing nearby. A more genteel cousin would have accepted Nelle's admiration graciously, but Paul had only said,

"All right, you woman you – what is it you _want_ from me?"

"I don't want anything from you," Nelle had spluttered.

"That's a lie – a woman never pays a compliment unless there is something in it for her. Delectable little mercenaries – all of you."

"What a lot of big words you know!" Nelle exclaimed rudely.

"_Thank_ you, angel," said Paul, very cordially, lifting an imaginary hat.

She had gone off in a huff and then Young Sam had tried to fight Paul over it. They had had to hold him back because Young Sam was decidedly a lover, _not_ a fighter. Paul would have pummeled him into the ground and then Young Sam would have cried over it, which was very embarrassing for everyone. It had happened that way on many occasions in their younger years. When Young Sam had been subdued they all piled into Cliff's car to take a drive down to the shore.

What else was there to do on such a lovely, golden-cloudy, June afternoon? They had all been well-fed at the levee and it was not quite so near supper-time for them to want to be getting home. Cliff and Paul and Young Sam and Minnie went – Paul always made Minnie come along with them. She was such a meek little thing and everyone knew it, so she always lent to their revelries an air of decorum. The rest of the clan thought that even a group of hale and hearty boys could not get up to much mischief with such a meek little mouse of a Minnie alongside. What they did not know was that Minnie was so meek that she dared not prevent them from any real sort of deviltry. She merely worried about it when she got home and prayed for the hundredth, thousandth, time that Paul would someday learn to behave himself.

Not every Dark or Penhallow owned a motor-car and so many of them were walking along the road to their respective homes. Usually in little gossiping groups of three of four. Jasper Dark was walking by himself, as usual. He had forgotten his crutch and his leg hurt him, as it always did when it was a little damp. But he was not bothered by it any more than usual and he had a jolly grin on his face as he went along. He was enjoying the afternoon. Truthfully he was admiring the view – the red road curling like a snake through the gold-green birch grove – the river, matching it, winding alongside – and far in the distance the deep blue of the gulf. It satisfied him. Jasper was glad they hadn't gotten around to paving that road. He began to whistle. His family all noticed the contemplative look on his face thought that he was planning out a story about the levee and that he would eventually write it for the paper. They were afraid of Jasper for it. They hoped he _wouldn't_. Jasper never had written anything about his clan but the Darks and Penhallows did not credit him for that – they only thought perhaps he was biding his time or hadn't gotten around to it yet.

Paul always drove Clifford's car and he always did so a bit recklessly. Today he suddenly stopped at quite the last minute, almost causing a collision with the Denzil Penhallows' automobile. Denzil had to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting Cliff's bumper. Cliff looked equal parts relieved and angry. Then Paul did a kind thing. No one else had offered Jasper a ride but Paul waved to him now.

"Hey Jasper!" he called, "Going home? Well, climb in – we're going right by there – we'll drop you. Scoot, Minnie – Sam, get over, and let him in. There we are – !" And Paul drove as recklessly off as before.

Jasper knew that he would not have been included in the drive if it were not for his bum leg. He was the same age as his cousins and lived with them, but not among them. He did not mind their pity, and he likewise did not mind being somewhat apart from them. Jasper was neither impressed with nor afraid of anyone. He was good-natured about all things and unruffleable. He refused to count any remark as a slight against himself. Why bother doing that? It was easier to laugh along. So when Cliff asked if he had his sights on Uncle Roger's Becky, Jasper merely screwed his ugly, over-wide mouth into a smile.

"She asked me to marry her a while ago," grinned Jasper, "But I turned her down."

They all laughed at him, even Minnie. The idea of ugly Jasper 'turning down' Uncle Roger's Rebecca! Jasper did not mind their laughter. He laughed, too. Why shouldn't he? It was a ridiculous idea.

"You were always friends with 'Becca growing up," said Paul, when the laughter had died down. "You know her pretty well – why don't you give Cliff and Sam the Lad here some pointers on how to win her heart? They're going to try to win her, so you might as well tell them. What's her favorite posy and all that?"

Jasper laughed again. It had been many years since he had gone over to Beechurst to play with Rebecca. He had not even spoken to her for many years besides little small talk at clan gatherings. She had written him a short note when he had been wounded at The Scheldt. But that was hardly significant. Every Dark and Penhallow had sent him something when he was wounded. And then when he was better they never bothered with him again.

If Jasper recalled correctly, Rebecca did not like it when people gave her flowers. "They belong outdoors," she had said to him once, many years ago. "Why not leave them where they _belong_?" An uncanny sort of female! She had always been reading, always had her shapely nose poked in the pages of a novel.

"Rebecca likes books," said Jasper with some conviction.

Paul guffawed. "You're out of luck then, boys. Sam's far too sentimental to bring a girl he's courting a book and as for Cliff – I don't think he's ever _seen_ a book in his life. Well, here we are, Jasper, right at the door of your humble abode."

Jasper gave placid Millie a kiss and good-naturedly shook the hands of each of his male cousins in turn. He climbed down. They watched him limp up the lane with his rollicking gait.

"A queer sort of fellow, that," said Paul fondly, before they whirled away again in a cloud of dust.

2

Norma Dark watched them go until the car was quite out of sight. There was a queer, smouldering look in her eyes. A wave of jealousy came over her, so strong that she had to clutch the gatepost as they went. How she would have liked to be one of the jolly group in that car! Singing – going down to the shore for a clam-bake! It would be so lovely! But no one ever asked Norma to come along anywhere.

She had been walking a few paces behind Jasper when Paul had stopped to offer him a ride. For a brief moment, Norma had thought Paul might be stopping to speak to her and her heart beat quickly over it. When he had spoken to Jasper instead it had been devastating. Norma was in love with Paul, you see, and always longed with a secret hope that he would speak to her. He never had. Not once. In a clan as large as theirs it was not difficult for two young people to go their whole lives without ever conversing over anything meaningful. Only twice in her memory had Paul ever taken any notice of her. Once had been years ago, before their family had settled in Rose River. Paul had been a boy of twelve and Norma, a sulky, awkward girl of ten had clumsily bashed into a sideboard at a family dinner. She had bruised her shin and while she sat on the floor rubbing it, Paul had come by and laughed at her. He said, good-humoredly enough,

"So you're studying the ballet, I hear?"

Then he had laughed. Yes, his eyes had been kind enough but he had _laughed_ at her! Norma went crimson remembering it now. She had never learned Jasper's old trick – if you laughed along with the person who laughed, then that person couldn't be laughing _at_ you. Mrs. David Dark had made Norma study ballet in hopes that it would cure her daughter of her awkwardness. It hadn't. Norma had put her foot down for once in her life and had refused to go to her lessons again after that. What was the use? The worse had already happened – _Paul_ had laughed at her.

The only holdover from those ballet lessons now was that Norma walked tall and straight, holding herself up in the small of her back, like a queen. She had gotten slightly less clumsy with time. But Norma sometimes thought that perhaps she should have kept bashing into things. It was better to be ridiculed than _ignored_.

The second time Paul had taken any notice of Norma had been one foggy night a year ago when he had been out in Clifford's car as usual. Norma had been walking back from a church social – walking along the side of the dark road – Norma always had to walk everywhere. She had been wearing a gray dress and couldn't be seen through the fog. Paul had taken the curve too fast – Norma saw the headlights coming at her but found she was too frightened to move out of the way. She was rooted to the spot and could not jump to the side! Paul had seen her at the last moment and had slammed his brakes and swerved. The car stopped at the last moment, only inches from where Norma stood. His face was very white.

"Why didn't you jump out of the way?" he asked hoarsely, his frightened eyes boring into her little white face.

"I couldn't," said Norma simply. Her heart was beating too fast in the shadow of her close call.

Some of the colour returned to Paul's face. He was not Drowned John's grandson for nothing.

"You're a damn' fool," he said and had driven on – albeit at a slower pace – without a backward glance.

Norma had thought – still thought – that she would rather have Paul call her a damn' fool than have any other man call her a princess. So those were the two times that Paul had taken notice of her. The times he hadn't were too many to count. The one time that rankled most was during the war – Norma had wrestled with her feelings and had finally decided to write Paul a letter.

It was a pale, insipid little letter, but if you read between the lines you could see that it was a hopeful, courage-bringing little letter – a letter from a little believing girl to one who was obviously her hero. Norma had memorized it because she had worried over every word. She writhed over certain lines of it every so often. 'I know we will win it with _you_ over there,' she had written. 'And we are working as hard as we can to keep things cheerful and lovely on the homefront – so that when you come back you will think that your sacrifice was _worth it_.' Norma squirmed with embarrassment. Oh, the _shame_ of some things! Why couldn't one undo them?

Paul had never answered the letter. Norma always supposed he had gotten it and laughed over it. Norma _hated_ to be laughed at.

She felt sure now that Paul would marry Rebecca. Oh, she would die if he did! Her heart would break if Paul married anyone – but if it were someone like Gladys Penhallow or Chrissie Dark she could know at least that Gladys was stupid and Chrissie had a hook nose. Norma was quite intelligent and her own nose was shapely enough. But she had nothing on Rebecca, who was beautiful and intelligent and womanly and sweet and charming and by far the most wonderful woman in the clan. And seeing as though Paul was the most wonderful man – of course they would make a match of it. Norma knew that when she did she could _not_ stand up as bridesmaid. She would rather tear at her throat and _die_.

She would have prayed over it. Norma's family of Darks had a reputation for being very pious. They all prayed loudly and openly – not to mention tediously – at the slightest provocation. Norma's father had the honor of saying 'grace' at every clan meal. It had been a long time since Norma herself had prayed. She thought that if her own kin could not notice her – well, why would God take notice if they could not? So Norma did not pray over Paul's marrying Becky – which she felt sure would happen – though she did several times more think that she would _die_ if it came to pass. All the while knowing perfectly well that she wouldn't – she would go on living – and that was worse, somehow.


	5. Chapter 5

Clifford Penhallow came down the stairs and went into the dining room at Treewoofe. He sat down, ate three bites of his breakfast, sipped his coffee, and then said, with the air of a man who has made an important decision,

"I think I'll take Uncle Roger's Rebecca, Mother – Dad – I'll take her off his hands. Now – what do you say about that!"

Cliff had never found a girl that he really liked before. His ideal of perfect womanhood stemmed from the pretty picture of his mother that he carried in his mind and he had not yet found a girl who could measure up. Of course Rebecca didn't – but she came closer than others. And – the ten thou' would make up for the shortfallings. Cliff was not a spendthrift but he did like fine things and this windfall would certainly make them easier to acquire. So he was pleased with his decision but he seldom made a move without his parents' approval. He looked eagerly at their faces and waited for it, now.

"She'll only be too glad to have _you_," was Hugh Dark's pronouncement.

"Oh, Cliff!" cried Joscelyn Dark as if he had done something very magnificent. "How wonderful you are, darling!"

From such an ebullient response the uneducated listener might suppose that Cliff was a prince regent or some such royalty. Ordinary people rarely kowtow to a mere mortal in such a fashion – even if they are that mortal's parents. Cliff Dark was the exception – ever since he had been very small his parents had worshipped him with total, adoring adulation. They worshipped him so much that they never noticed he was a rather stupid, empty-headed young man – even if he was quite handsome. He had Hugh's broad shoulders and curly hair, but the color of it was the same as his mother's 'gorgeous snake.'

Hugh loved his son because Joscelyn was his mother; Joscelyn loved him because his father was Hugh. They loved each other very much. The rest of the clan loved the three of them despite their better judgment. It had never been a comfortable thing to exist in the same clan as those two. There had been the long separation between them for so many years after Hugh and Joscelyn had been married – and then one day they had decided it was all over. And nobody ever knew why! Joscelyn had the Spanish blood in _her_ – they had all been wary of her from the start. And Hugh had no Spanish blood but he had been the only child of Mrs. Conrad Dark and Mrs. Conrad was as silly about her son as Joscelyn and Hugh were now about their own.

So Cliff had lived twenty-seven years on the earth as the petted, adored only son and heir apparent of Treewoofe. It should have been easy for everyone to hate him but somehow they could not. Spoiled – yes. Vain – of course. But also kind – he was. And generous to a fault. He had a reputation at dances for doting on the homelier girls who were left out of it all. Why shouldn't everyone feel happy and lovely at a dance? Cliff squired them around and courted them until they blushed. Only one girl – Norma Dark – had not responded in such a way. _She_ had slapped him. Consequently, Joscelyn snubbed Mrs. David in the grocers and when Hugh came up for re-election he never asked David to put a placard in his office window.

Joscelyn had always been deathly afraid that Cliff would fall in love with one of those homely girls and marry her. She did not like the idea of Cliff marrying anyone, but if he had to be married, it had best not be to a girl who was not worthy in every way of Cliff himself. Not that Joscelyn – or Hugh – thought Roger's Rebecca the equal of their son. Equal – no – but she _was _wothy, at least. And lately Cliff had been writing to a Boston girl – a tourist he had met during the summer – and this distressed Joscelyn almost as much as it had when she learned he was going away to fight. What if he married this Boston girl and moved so far away? Joscelyn could not bear that. Better it be Roger's Rebecca – she was close enough to home. At least darling Cliffie would be always nearby!

"It's certain she'll fall in love with you!" Joscelyn exclaimed. "Why, the only thing you'll have to do is go and _tell_ her that you'll have her."

Cliff nodded. Wasn't that the truth! He inspected his reflection in his knife blade and was pleased with what he saw.

"The only question at all is when you will have the _time_ to go and tell her," Cliff's mother sighed. "You're _so _busy my darling – and you mustn't overextend yourself."

That was not the truth. Clifford was in no danger of "overextending" himself. He lived a charmed life. He had enough money so that he never worked and he amused himself by going to interesting places to see interesting things and talk to interesting people. Never too far from home, though! And when he got the urge he did a little work on the farm. But somehow his mother always convinced him that his matters were of the utmost urgency and importance and Cliff believed her.

"You're right," he said. "But I'll fit it in my schedule somehow, Mother – likely I'll run down to Beechurst this afternoon and tell little Becky the news. Won't she be pleased!"

"Oh yes," said Joscelyn and Hugh – adoringly.

2.

Cliff was always making decisions – the problem was that he very rarely followed through with them. The afternoon whiled itself away and he did not find a chance to get down to Beechurst as he had planned. No matter. Of course it could wait. Rebecca couldn't take anyone _but_ him. Could she? She could not!

So Young Sam was the first of the Dark and Penhallow men to call at Beechurst. He went in early afternoon. He was wearing his Sunday suit and his moustache had been neatly trimmed. The old gossips saw this and exclaimed over it. Sam Penhallow had once said that he wouldn't trim his moustache to please anyone but himself. Not even his old mother, though she had cried and begged him to do it. There was no changing Sam's mind once he had his Scotch up. Sam took a circuitous route to Rose River – a route that took him by the door of Pineview, where Nelle Dark lived with her mother and old grandmother. Young Sam really had no reason to take the road by Pineview. It was quite out of his way. But perhaps he had an ulterior motive. In any event, Nelle Dark saw the moustache and reflected peevishly that _she _had never been able to get Young Sam to trim it, either. No matter how much she had refused his kisses because of it.

By nightfall the entire clan had the story. Sam had rung the bell at Beechurst and asked to speak with 'Becca. He had taken Jasper's advice and brought her a book. In truth, Young Sam had no great affiliations with books and thought one book the same as any other, so the one he had brought her was a lurid dime-novel thriller. But the kinks and workings of clan gossip had changed it into a book of love-poetry.

Mercy Penhallow had had it from Thekla Dark who had it from a mysterious source – possibly Uncle Roger's maid – that Rebecca had taken Young Sam into the parlor and they had drunk lemonade and eaten scones. Honestly, it had been a very awkward affair and Young Sam soon ran out of pleasant things to say about the weather. Rebecca had settled down with a sigh and read silently from her book, laughing over passages in it without reading them aloud. Young Sam grew sweaty and red faced with embarrassment. This was not reported – but the length of the visit _was_. Almost all the clan soon knew that Young Sam had sat in the Beechurst parlour for _two hours_. Some accounts stretched it to three. And everyone knew that when he had taken his leave Rebecca smiled at him and shook his hand. This made the outlook seem very bright indeed for Young Sam. Uncle Pippin had started takings bets on who would win her and this one handshake moved Young Sam up in the odds.

Cliff Dark heard of it and became furious with himself for not going sooner. It would have given him a wonderful air of distinction to be the first to call on Becky and he was upset that Young Sam should take the honors instead of him. Minnie Penhallow heard it and despaired. Suppose Rebecca took little Sam instead of Paul? She told the whole story to Paul to try and make him jealous but Paul had only laughed. Norma Dark heard of it and resented Rebecca for it. She did not care at all for Young Sam – only that Young Sam preferred Rebecca over _her_. But then – why shouldn't he? Even Jasper Dark heard of it, though no one knows exactly how.

Nelle Dark's grandmother heard the entire story fourth-hand from a neighbor and so it was embellished with many things that did not exactly happen, but it was a striking tale and Nelle's grandmother told it over to her after supper. Nelle's mother sighed. For that matter, Nelle did, too.

"She's sorry now she didn't take him," said Grandmother shrewishly. "Ain't you, child?"

Nelle sighed again. She was not sorry, exactly. Only – she didn't like the idea of Young Sam going to see Rebecca for some reason. She did not say this, though. Nelle had enough of the Scotch blood in her to admit to that.

"_I_ don't care who he visits," she said.

Nelle's mother was pacified by this answer, but her grandmother was not. "How will you feel," asked the old lady, "If she marries him? _She'll _be Mrs. Samuel Beelby Phemister Penhallow, then!"

There it was! Beelby _Phemister_! Imagine being Mrs. _that_! Nelle shuddered and reflected that she really _had_ dodged the bullet. Mrs. Samuel Beelby Phemister – not even beautiful Rebecca could make that seem dignified.

"Let her do it," said Nelle recklessly.

3.

The Darks and Penhallows were not perfect, but at least one good thing could be said of most of them. Even horrible, woman-hating Uncle Pennycuik Dark had his good points. Why, once he had searched all day in a thunderstorm for a little blind kitten that had gone missing. He had found the thing half-drowned in a puddle and nursed it back to health. This one good-hearted deed made it impossible to hate Penny, despite his myriad other foibles. And vinegary old maid Mercy Penhallow had been a bona fide heroine during the long ago Spanish flu epidemic. She had been inoculated and had nursed and tended and cared for her sick relatives until she was on the point of exhaustion. The clan never forgot that through the rest of her lifetime of gossiping.

Drowned John had cried like a baby at Howie's funeral – Peter Penhallow had donated four thousand dollars to an orphan's home in New Brunswick – Donna Penhallow was the only person in the clan who could keep a secret. Joscelyn and Hugh might spoil their little boy terribly but when they saw that Mrs. James Digby's eight children were going about in rags they did something about it. In short, while no member of the clan was perfect, none of them were completely evil, either.

The only person in the clan about whom not one good thing could be said was Mrs. Fred Margoldsby. Although – she had divorced him. P.E. Island had not had many divorces in its time and so its inhabitants did not know how to deal with them. Would she revert back to Nan Penhallow now that she was divorced? Or did they still call her Nan Margoldsby?

Nan was the daughter of Mrs. Alpheus Penhallow, who was none too well-liked herself. Nan was liked even less. In a clan such as the Penhallows you were called 'Aunt' or 'Uncle' once you were old enough so that you could not be called by your first name. If they did not like you, you were called 'Cousin.' Sentimental Virginia Powell was called 'Cousin' Virginia. They liked Nan even less than Virginia, so they did not call her anything at all.

In her youth Nan had had a reputation for being a man-eater. Her clan called her a mod, a wasp, a vamp, a green-eyed, jealous, petty thing. A disgrace! There was a clan story that Peter Penhallow had met an old-school fellow from home once when he was trekking along the Congo, and the man had made a remark about Thekla Dark. Peter was never fond of Thekla Dark, but he had slapped the man's face out of clan loyalty.

Once Peter had heard a colleague say that Nan Margoldsby was a woman with an empty mind – and an empty soul. Peter had not slapped _him_. In his secret heart, Peter agreed.

Perhaps Nan's worst flaw was that she did not know what her clan thought of her. She did not seem to know that they considered her outcast and did not care for her at all. She went around them with a supercilious air of superiority as if she were better because her clothes were finer and her manner of living more extravagant. She had lived in St. John for twenty years and referred to everything on the Island as "quaint" – in an infuriatingly condescending tone.

"I'll 'quaint' her," said Uncle Pippin darkly.

Nan had the tendency to be in the thick of things – when she could. So when she heard the news of the last levee she decided to come and visit her mother in Rose River, and to bring with her her two sons and her daughter. "For entertainment's sake," she had said sardonically.

So Uncle Roger had to hold a clan dinner at Beechurst to welcome them. It would have been beyond the Pale to do anything else. Roger was always perfect in his manners. But he did not return the chilly kiss Nan dropped on his cheek when she greeted him at the Grecian porch.

"The Prodigal has returned!" said Nan in the arch way that she had. Everyone was embarrassed for her. She did not notice. She introduced them to her sons. They were called Freddy and Alf. And her daughter. Her name in the family Bible was Alexandra – a sort of perverse tribute to Nan's long dead cousin and Roger's wife. Nan called her Alex. The clan did not approve of girls being calling of boys' names, but then they did not approve of so many things about Nan.

"My, my – it's good to be back home." Why was Nan still arch? They all writhed with the awkwardness of it. "Roger, dear – you have kept the place so quaint. Won't you show me all over it?"

Roger did, and when he had taken them into the library, the rest of the clan began gossiping.

"She's gone to seed," said Thekla to her sister. Nan might have been lithe and trim once but now she simply overflowed from her dress. She had the overripe, vulgar looks of a woman who was beautiful once and does not know how to cope with the fact that she is beautiful no more.

"Going to try to get one of her boys married to _our_ Becky," said Dandy Dark in disgust.

"You can tell she wants Roger for herself," said Uncle Pippin with a furious glint in his eye. "You saw as well as I did how she looked at him."

"She wouldn't dare," said sweet-tempered Cora Penhallow softly. "Roger knows how Nan treated Gay so long ago – and he has never forgiven her for it." Cora had been friends with Roger's wife and her eyes filled with tears as they so often did when she spoke of her. "He never will. He looked as if he couldn't bear to touch her. When she took his arm, you could _see_ that he wanted to shake her off. Nan is horrible – horrible. I _hate_ her."

"We mustn't hold it against the children," said old Aunt Margaret Penhallow. She pitied the poor dears. What must it be like to have a mother like _that_? Poor little souls! She felt very tender toward them. They looked like nice children – the boys were so handsome and dashing – and the girl was as pretty as Nan had been. Maybe more so. She was not as done up.

"They could turn out to be all right," said Paul Penhallow doubtfully to Cliff.

Perhaps they were "all right." Rebecca Dark spent all night talking to Freddy Margoldsby – but when the dinner was over he tried to kiss her hand and Rebecca snatched it away with a laugh.

"Wonder how 'quaint' _she _thinks that is," laughed Dandy Dark to Uncle Pippin.

Pippin said nothing but when he went home he added another column or two to his odds book and waited for the bets to roll in.


	6. Chapter 6

Young Sam may have been the first to call at Beechurst but after him – the deluge. Cliff finally got his act together enough to motor down from Treewoofe one hot July afternoon. He _would_ have walked it but it was so dashed unpleasant in such a temperature. And in truth, Cliff had another reason for driving. It had not rained since before the levee and it was terribly dry. He did not want to kick dust over his new seersucker suit. It really was a dinky suit – Joscelyn had gone all the way to Charlottetown to buy it for him. And Cliff looked very well in it. So he drove the road to Rose River with a light heart. He was proud of himself for making such an early start of it – and so he was unpleasantly surprised to see the long line that stretched through the Beechurst hallway and out the front door, spilled over the Grecian porch, and extended itself down and across the yard.

Cliff Dark was not used to waiting in line and so he took his place at the end of this one in a mood that matched his name. It seemed that every Dark and Penhallow male of a marrying age and status had arranged himself across the Beechurst estate that day. And some of a decidedly unmarriageable age had come along for purposes of observation. Uncle Pippin had set himself in a deck chair by the drive-way and was spitting sunflower seeds into his hat with an air of great amusement.

After a while, old Stanton Grundy joined him. Stanton was neither Dark nor Penhallow but he had had the immense privilege of being married to one, long ago. He had buried two wives since then – both outsiders – but some how the clan could not shake him. Uncle Pippin had once hated Grundy with the fiery hot passion of a thousand suns – still did – the difference was that he had resigned himself to him by now. Though Pippin couldn't help baiting him a little as old Stanton settled himself and his long white beard down in his chair.

"Come to cast your hat in the ring, eh, Grundy?"

"I wouldn't marry another one of _you_ for the world," said Grundy, good-naturedly enough. Pippin was quiet for a moment – deciding whether or not he was going to take offense at the remark. After a moment he decided not to. Even he could admit that clan life could be less than tranquil at times.

"Anyhow, _I've_ come to see the action," Grundy went on. "There's bound to be a dog-fight or two. You can't get this many young, rowdy ones together without at least _one_ good dust-up."

"Oh, stop smacking your lips," said Pippin in disgust but he looked about worriedly. Already there were rumblings.

For instance, by some unlucky star, Cliff Dark and Harold Dark were caught waiting next to each other in line. They had never spoken since their throw-down at the levee. They regarded each other warily now .Others regarded them warily, also. And all other eyes were on the Margoldsby boys.

They were not doing anything out of the norm, but Nan's boys had such a lazy, insouciant, citified air that put others off automatically. Freddy Margoldsby had inserted a red carnation into his buttonhole and Ned Penhallow reflected that he would really like to go and cram it down the pompous little smug Fred's throat. Why? Because Freddy had looked at him and _raised his eyebrows_. Ned didn't know _why_ it bothered him so – he only knew it _did. _

The boys' sister had come along with them, bringing a picnic hamper. Alf Margoldsby watched as Alexandra unfolded a linen blanket to spread on the lawn. The edge of the blanket caught in the breeze and blew against the hem of his suit. Alf spoke sharply to her. They could not hear what he said – only his tone was sharp. Alexandra apologized and bowed her head, and Cliff Dark, who had caught it all, thought unmercilessly and uncharacteristically that Alpheus Margoldsby was a buffoon. He was thinking it when Alexandra happened to look up – her green eyes looked directly into Cliff's gray ones.

It lasted only a second but it was long enough to make Cliff wonder if little Becky were _really_ what he wanted, after all. Mightn't he actually prefer a curvy, green-eyed creature with rose-red lips and glistening, live-gold hair? Then Alexandra looked away and Cliff returned to hating Harold bitterly. In his show of ignoring him, he forgot what he had been thinking.

2.

Ever since Young Sam's dime novel had been erroneously interpreted as love poetry, potential suitors had been bringing Rebecca books of verse. Mason Dark stood on the porch and clutched a copy of Vernon Watkins's odes. Next to him, Like Penhallow leafed through the copy of Frost's poems that he had bought and sentimentally inscribed. Six fellows had brought the complete works of Carman, and four the more traditionally passionate love-sonnets of Miss. Browning. Only one person had brought a novel – Abraham Penhallow clutched his copy of Gatsby and hated himself for not having brought something more romantic. To tell the truth, Rebecca would have preferred Gatsby to all the poems of the others – _if_ she had not already owned two copies.

Rebecca saw her suitors in the parlor one by one, in five or ten-minute intervals. To pass the time while they waited, the rest of the men gossiped amongst themselves. They had plenty to talk about. Since the levee and 'Becca's unorthodox announcement, several things had happened. The Margoldsbys' arrival, of course, was one thing. But then Carey Dark had thrown over his cousin Bertha. Everyone had expected them to be married for their entire lives and now it was all off. Carey had decided after all to try for a chance with Rebecca!

"A risky endeavor," Uncle Pippin said complacently, spitting shells into his hat. "Rebecca's not likely to take him – Roger's always been cool to that branch of Darks since Morrie Dark painted his house that bright blue fifteen years ago. And Bertha won't take him back after _this_."

"Carey should've danced with the one who brung him," said Grundy imperturbably.

There was also a nasty rumour going around that Rebecca was allowing one of the Hodgkins boys down at Indian Spring to come calling on her. There was no truth at all in this story but Bobby Hodgkins had been seen at Becchurst several times since the levee and so everyone believed it for a time and were up in arms over it. Hadn't Becky said she would _only_ take a Dark or Penhallow – and now there was a Hodgkins seen loitering on the Grecian porch on three separate occasions since! And smoking! On the Grecian porch!

The worst thing of all was that the whole thing had made it into the papers. Shortly after the levee the Three Hills paper had written it all up. It was a sarcastic, cutting account that seemed to imply that the Darks and Penhallows thought themselves above the traditional courtship methods.

"Well, aren't we?" asked Stanton Grundy and Uncle Pippin fumed. _We_,indeed! His old furious hatred of Grundy came back for five minutes.

Anyway, the Three Hills paper had printed Rebecca's jesting wedding announcement – word for word. Someone must have leaked it. Even the part about Charity Penhallow stealing the hair ribbons. Charity had cried for three straight days over it and even now, two weeks later, would not leave the house. Her father, who might have been angry with Charity over the misappropriated ribbons instead vowed to kill whomever had given the paper such a spurious – his words – story. They all suspected Jasper. Of course, he wrote for the Rose Rover _Tribune_ – but the story had been printed anonymously. Peter Penhallow owned the _Tribune_ and of course Jasper couldn't have printed it there. The clan all thought he had done it because of the way they had always treated him – but instead of vowing to treat him better they simply snubbed him ever further for what they perceived as his latest offense.

3.

Drowned John's house was situated on the road to Beechurst and Minnie Penhallow tried to work her embroidery without noticing all the cars and people that went by. It was a difficult thing to _not_ notice. Drowned John's house was stifling. He had refused to have an air-conditioner installed. They were newfangled and he operated under the strange notion that an air-conditioner would somehow poison him. They had all tried to find out what made him think that but Drowned John could not say why he did. He only knew it _would_. So Minnie had no choice but to take herself out to the porch if she did not want to melt.

She tried to studiously work her piece and not look up at the steady train of cars and passersby. But she was no good at embroidery – no one had ever taught her how to do it – and she made many mistakes. Every time she had to pull out her stitches she had no choice but to look up – and she could not help but catch the eye of one of her dapper clansmen bound for Beechurst and Becky's hand.

Paul would not go. Minnie had brushed off his Sunday suit this morning and entreated him piteously to go. Paul had laughed at her. Minnie had even gone so far as to purchase a book of Millay's sonnets for Paul to take. He had lighted it on fire and Minnie cried as it went up in flames.

"Oh, Paul, _why_ won't you?" she sobbed. "Rebecca would marry you if you only showed a _little_ interest in her."

"What the devil makes you think I want to marry her or anyone?" Paul had roared.

"Nothing – only you have to be married _sometime_, Paul, and it may as well be to Becky. She and her family are so – so _upstanding_. And she's really so pretty and I know she'd make you a good wife. And you mustn't say 'devil,' Paul – it isn't proper."

"Let the devil take all proper people," said Paul and he had left the house.

Now Minnie worried. Neddy Penhallow had gone by with his mother and aunt and she had seen them all look up at Drowned John's house with dubious eyes. The paint was peeling and the shutters badly needed to be taken down and sanded. Minnie had entreated her grandfather to get someone in to do it but Drowned John had said he wasn't going to hire anyone to do what he could do himself. Only – he had never gotten around to doing it. Minnie knew it didn't look respectable and she thought they were all thinking the same thing. Truthfully, Need Penhallow and his mother and aunt were thinking how pretty Miranda Penhallow was – was it possible such a sweet thing could be the daughter of Donna Drowned-John and that scandalous Peter? But Minnie thought they were looking critically and so she could not stand it and went inside the hot, dark house.

The house was messy as it usually was. It was always messy but never dirty. Even so – Minnie had just straightened it yesterday. She began to set everything to rights again and as she did so she despaired. What hope had a Penhallow maiden of being respected and respectable if the rest of her family was determined _not_ to be either?

And outside on the Beechurst road a steady stream of suitors went past.


	7. Chapter 7

Beechurst was situated at the corner of the main road through town – a pretty road, perhaps the prettiest in all of Rose River – actually called Elm Street. Elm Street passed by the post office, the grocer's, the church and school, but the Darks and Penhallows insisted on calling Goldendale by the unofficial name of Beechurst Road. Was not, after all, Beechurst those most important thing it ran by? That autumn, any clan-member's importance could be judged on how closely they were situated to Beechurst on the road. For example, Thekla Dark, who was Uncle Roger's closest neighbor, was widely recognized as a person of prestige. Did she not have a firsthand view of all who went past to call on Rebecca?

The David Darks were second closest neighbor to Beechurst. They resided at 127 Elm. In wide society, the art of naming houses had gone out of fashion. Among the Darks and Penhallows, who considered themselves a rather sentimental, old-fashioned family, it ran rampant. The 'Pinehursts and Elmwolds and Cedarcrofts' they perpetuated would have been enough to put a certain Anne Shirley to shame. Even poor Augustus Penhallow, who lived in a ramshackle tar-paper shack down at little Friday Cove, had christened his dwelling 'Sea View.' It was only the David Darks whose house had a number, not a name.

When Norma had been young she had wanted so badly to have a painted sign in the yard with her home's name on it; she spent hours gazing out of the ugly, gabled bay window and dreaming up what she would call it. David Dark's house was large – had to be large enough to house his wife and ten children – and as it often happens with large houses, 127 Elm was very ugly. Thick, new, bright green shutters and weathered, mellow cedar shingle siding fought with each other in a terrible contrast. There was a bulbous cupola atop the roof that had always reminded Norma of a wart on the end of a nose. But a lovely, dappled green light came through the windows in afternoon-time, and there was a beautiful sunset view. She had wanted to call it Goldendale.

"You had better be reading your Bible than po'try books," said Mrs. David, who had supposed that Norma had gotten the name out of an anthology, and she took down the pathetic little sign that Norma had wrought with a discarded wood shingle and some of the hideous green paint. Norma had been whipped and made to read her Bible as punishment, during which she came across the verse,

_She shall remain ever in thine house, and bewail her father and her mother._

In the face of that, Norma supposed that it didn't matter what her house was called. She began to see it for what it was – a prison – the green shutters keeping her shut away from the world. She turned her little dreams and fancies to handsome Paul Penhallow, who was on the Island for the summer, and after a while, she did not dream or imagine anything very much at all.

Mrs. David was not a cruel woman, only overworked. She was mother to all ten children, and by the time Norma, the last of them, was born, she had little time for the scant endearments she had lavished on the other nine. Now the other children had married or moved away, and so Mrs. David had much less to do, with only Norma and Adrienne living at home, but she had grown into the habit of being curt to her children, and could not break herself of it. It was easier to be kind to Adrienne, who would have been Howie's wife, had he lived through Dieppe, and who was tolerably beautiful. She had none of Rebecca's golden splendor, but she was sleek and pale and flowerlike compared to Norma's sallowness and black, unruly curls.

Mrs. David dearly loved to be in the midst of things, and she did not like to be outdone by Thekla Dark and her horrid son Jasper simply because they lived closer in on the Beechurst Road. She kept a eye on the road from the front room while she did her mending, and if she saw a car go by she went to the telephone to be first to spread the news of who it was visiting Becky today. That afternoon a car did go by, but did so at such a breakneck speed that even Mrs. David's keen eyes could not catch who was in it. So she said to Norma, who was rather sulkily knitting,

"There's a jar of baked damsons in the pantry. Take them up to Beechurst and give them to Roger – he's tarrible fond of damsons – and see if you can't look in the parlor at who's calling on Becky."

Norma squirmed. She _so_ hated being part of her mother's gossipy missions. She felt sure if she went up now everyone would know why she had come and think it was because she wanted to know, herself.

"Oh, mother!" she sighed. "Please don't make me go."

"How like a serpent you have nestled to your bosom is a thankless child." Mrs. David quoth her favorite verse of Scripture. Norma hated Scripture because her mother so often quoted the worst and ugliest parts of it. It ruined the lines like how all the 'stars sang together,' and the Psalms, and the other beautiful parts that she might have loved.

"Can't Adrienne go instead?" asked desperately. No one would suspect Adrienne of gossip-mongering.

Adrienne only lowered her head an inch more over her own cloth, but Mrs. David looked horrified. To ask Adrienne to go! When she might have been mistress of Beechurst herself! Had Howie lived!

"Go get on your coat, you cruel, ungrateful girl," she said, as two tears trembled on Adrienne's lashes.

Norma realized her mistake. "I'm sorry Ady!" she cried. "I didn't mean – "

"_Go_," said Mrs. David, and Norma realized it was futile to resist any more. And the look on Adrienne's face really _was_ so stricken. She got the jar of preserves and tucked it under her arm. And went.

It was a lovely early autumn day. The leaves were just beginning to change. There was a purple, smoky smell heavy in the air, and a little fog creeping up over the harbour. Norma did not notice it. She noticed less beauty in the world every day. Only ugliness – the dead, gray birch in the vacant lot across from the church, the crooked tombstones in the graveyard, like decaying teeth, the brown leaves that skittered across the road when they were rucked up by a shrieking, shrew of a little wind.

Norma wanted to be alone. She saw Jasper walking toward her and sighed. Jasper Dark was her second cousin and though they had never been close he always made a habit of stopping to talk to her. He looked at her, Norma always thought, with some sort of pity. She hated that _Jasper_ should look at her with pity when he was so pitiable himself. But he was always so kind and it made her want to shake him. She gave him a curt hello now and hurried past, though Jasper looked as if he might want to stop and chat. She did not want to chat with him, or to walk to Beechurst with him limping along beside her! Norma felt relieved as she passed him, but then wretched as she saw the sad little half-smile on his face and the hand he waved good-bye.

She climbed the steps to Beechurst feeling abysmal. She rang the bell, and noticed with dismay, as she saw her reflection in the window, that she had absentmindedly taken her mother's old, netted, be-birded and be-nested church bonnet instead of her own drab blue velvet hat, which was only marginally more fashionable. And then she cried out in absolute horror as the door was opened and she saw into the parlour. For there was Becky, lovely as ever, and there was her gentleman caller – who was none other than Paul Penhallow!

He looked as handsome as ever; his hair had been cut and he was freshly shaven and wearing his good suit. Norma trembled at the nearness of him, and with the shock of seeing him there. Paul had his dark head leaning in close to Becky's burnished one, and he was smiling at her, and talking in a low voice. They looked like a couple in a magazine advertisement, a pair of screen stars. Like they had been made for one another. So Paul was calling on Rebecca! So Becky had won him! And Becky would have him. Any girl who could get him would hold him. For once in her life Norma was pale, her hands shook, and she dropped the jar of damsons. It shattered at her feet and the plums rolled on the floor like a dozen little golden suns.

"Why, Norma!" said Uncle Roger, but he was speaking to the air. Norma had fled.


	8. Chapter 8

Any reader who has been following this story might wonder how it came about that Paul Penhallow called on Rebecca. Of course he said he never would. And Paul Penhallow, you might have realized, was a man who almost always kept his foot down when down it was put.

There were only a few people in the world that Paul really loved. One of them had been Howie. He had loved Howie as if they had been brothers instead of cousins. He loved his mother and father and sister, and even grandfather, of course. And Paul loved whomever had written The Letter.

Paul had gotten The Letter when he was overseas, after Dieppe, when he had been in the hospital and sick in his heart because Howie had died. The Letter was written on a lavender paper, which smelled like lilacs, written in a girlish hand, and it was such a brave, loving, confidence-inspiring thing! "You are the _most splendid_, brave man I ever knew," its author had penned, "I am sure that you can do anything, and I know we will win it with _you _over there."

Of course it was a lot of sentimental drivel. Paul was not a man who could be easily swayed by compliments. His ego needed no stroking. At any other time he might have cast it aside with a laugh, but this letter had come at a time when he was heart-sick, bone-weary, and when he felt as if he had failed. He hadn't been able to save Howie, and was tormented when he remembered how the mask of death had crept over his face. And stricken with the guilt of one who has lived when another, more beloved, has died. And then to get such a sweet, tender, _believing_ letter as this! Paul slept with it under his pillow that night and every night after; he carried it in his pocket when he was in the trenches, and he read it over by candlelight whenever the world-weight on his shoulders began to be too much to bear. He began to be superstitious about it. He felt sometimes that The Letter was keeping him alive – the fact that one little soul across the world believed in him completely was keeping him from harm. It was the first thing he read in the morning. It was the last thing he read at night.

When Paul had come back to the Island, he would have liked to find the girl who had written him this – it was postmarked Rose River – and he would have liked to kiss her lips as he had kissed The Letter night after night for so many nights. There was only one complication. He didn't know _who_ had written the letter. He didn't recognize the writing.

And the letter was not signed.

Who ever had written it had written hurriedly, _I love you_, as way of closing, and then put the letter in an envelope while the ink was still wet – Paul knew this because it was smudged – without signing her name. There was no return address. The Letter's writer was still a mystery to him. Sometimes he looked at the faces of the Dark and Penhallow maidens while he was in church, but he could not see a flash of spirit or any depth of understanding on any of their faces – not enough spirit or understanding to allow them to write and send so many hopeful, loving, _courage_-bringing words.

He began to think that the girl who had written it did not exist. But still – he loved her. Whomever – wherever – she was. He would have taken silly, stupid, simpering Gladys Penhallow to his breast and married her – if he could prove that she had been the one to write it.

Only Minnie knew about The Letter, and how Paul still carried it in his pocket, and how he still slept with it under his pillow, and how when the look of the death mask on Howie's face – the death rattle in his chest – still haunted him, The Letter was the only thing that make it go away.

"Think hard, Minnie," Paul said once, when they were alone, taking The Letter, which was beginning to be smooth and worn about the edges, from his pocket and unfolding it. "Think hard," he said, as he held it before her. "Have you ever seen this writing before?"

"No – I haven't, Paul. I'd tell you if I knew, honest I would."

Paul had folded the paper up with a sigh, holding it lightly to his lips for a quick moment before he slipped it back in his pocket. Then he patted Minnie on the head and walked away, whistling to himself. But Minnie had seen the look in his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Of course Paul told Minnie about The Letter, because Paul loved Minnie. They had had what Uncle Roger judiciously called an 'unconventional upbringing' and they had had it together. They had ridden on the backs of camels in the Sahara desert while their father photographed the Great Pyramid at Giza. They had lain together at night while the monsoon rains pounded the sides of their tent. For bedtime stories they heard the old fishing tales of the Inuit tribe told by real Inuits. They stood together on the deck of a ship as it rounded the Cape of Good Hope, and had snowball fights in the Arctic. They learned to swim together on the banks of the River Nile.

Paul would do nearly anything for Minnie. Only twice in his life had he denied her anything. Once was when she had begged him not to go to fight. No matter how much Minnie had begged and pleaded, Paul refused to be budged. He would go. His mind was made up. That was the first time in their lives that Paul had refused Minnie anything.

The second was when she asked him to call on Rebecca. Paul was sure that Rebecca had not written The Letter. He had had other letters from her, and none of them were written on paper that smelled like lilacs, and none of them were written in the same black, sloping hand. Paul did not want to marry anyone who was not The Letter's writer, so he did not want to marry Becky. Let Minnie plead away. He wasn't going to while away his afternoons at Beechurst, wasn't going to be caught like a mouse by that young puss. Howie's sister or no, she was not the girl for him.

Paul might have never given in, had it not been for Mother's new hair cut. Donna Penhallow had long, thick, shiny black hair. Or – she _had_ had long, thick, shiny black hair. Then she dyed it.

Other women in the clan might have dyed their hair – but Donna Penhallow peroxided it. _And_ had it waved. The result was shocking. Even Paul was shocked by it. Peroxiding one's hair did not seem to be a motherly thing to do – and he was not used to having a mother who did many motherly things. The clan was in uproar. It was rumoured that there would be a levee. Peter was mirthful, Donna complacent, but Drowned John roared along with the rest of them, and poor Minnie was sick with nerves.

The rest of the clan clucked amongst themselves. "Donna never could stand not being the center of attention," said Junius Penhallow, and was reduced to fisticuffs with Peter Penhallow, who overheard his remark. Cousin Virginia Powell blamed it all on that long-ago attack of measles that Donna had had. She had never been the same since.

For her part, Minnie could do nothing but sob. She could not eat. She begged and pleaded with Mother to dye her hair back.

"But I like it this way, darling," said Mother. "Let the rest of them talk if they want to. They've said worse things before."

This was no comfort to Minnie, who could not eat her supper for the third night in a row.

"This is ridiculous," Paul said to her as she wept her heart out in her little room. "You can't go on like this, Min. Mother's going to do what she wants. Aren't you used to it by now? I'll talk to her if you like. She'll listen to me if I holler and swear. Tell me what to do – I'll do anything if you just stop bellyaching."

Anything! Minnie lifted her tear-stained face from her pillow and said, "Oh – anything – Paul? Really?"

"Anything, pet," said Paul, patting her hand. "I promise. Name your poison, sweetheart."

"Oh – " Minnie could hardly believe her good fortune. "Paul – will you call on Becky?"

Paul stared at her blackly and went to the window to light a cigarette. He gave a short laugh. "That's mean, Miranda," he said. "You can't ask me to do that."

"Oh, but you said anything, Paul! And you promised! Oh – please – _please_ won't you? That way – people will stop talking about mother. You don't have to marry Rebecca. Don't be silly! Just call on her once or twice. And be _nice_ to her, Paul. Don't swear or say shocking things."

Of course Minnie thought that if Paul went to see Becky in the context of courtship he would fall in love with her. He would forget all about The Letter! And Becky would fall in love with him – perhaps Becky had even written the letter! She may have disguised her writing! Minnie saw that she almost had him, conjured up a few sobs, and then saw she had won. Paul flicked his cigarette out the window in disgust.

"Don't start again – fine, fine! You win. I'll go and see her. Once or twice."

"Three times, Paul." Minnie's chin was set.

"Three times. Whatever you'd like, angel. Are you happy now?" And Paul stormed from the room and down the stairs in a black mood, swearing all the way – in a most Drowned-Johnian manner.

"Oh, I _will_ be," said Minnie, eyes shining.

And that was how Paul happened to be at Beechurst when Norma Dark came calling.


	9. Chapter 9

Within a day, everyone knew that Paul and Rebecca were as good as a done thing. Bets stopped rolling in for Uncle Pippin. What was the use of betting against Paul? He had a V.C. after all.

"And he is so handsome," sighed Myra Dark, whose own son was a chubby, plain fellow.

"I always knew Roger's girl would go for a wicked man," said Cousin Virginia woefully. Cousin Virginia said everything woefully. If something wasn't saying woefully, it wasn't worth saying at all. Counsequently Cousin Virginia was a very dour person.

She would have liked to see her nephew Corey settled at Beechurst. But Rebecca had laughed in his face and said that _she_ wouldn't take Bertha Dark's leavings. "And you remember how Gay was heels over head for Noel Gibson so long ago."

"At least Paul is a Penhallow," said Mrs. David Dark ruefully. Mrs. David was as often rueful as Virginia was woeful. Rueful, however, leaves a little hope. Yes, Paul was a Penhallow – even if it was one of the Drowned John Penhallows – but a Penhallow was a Penhallow was a Penhallow.

"He was with Howie when he died," whispered Adrienne, and the whole clan fell silent, remembering that they did, indeed, love Paul for that. Howie – dear Howie – they had loved him. And Paul had loved him, too.

"But that's the _only_ good thing that can be said of him," said Mrs. David conclusively.

Nan Margoldsby, was, as usual, on the fringes of the conversation. Resplendent in a navy blue cashmere suit that was far too dressed-up for an autumn afternoon in Rose River. The whole lot of Margoldsbys – one never thought of Nan and her brood as Penhallows – tended to be overdressed. It was an infuriating habit – one that twanged behind the eyes like a mosquito's drone. It was not pleasant to don one's old gingham – or overalls – to do the weekly shop, and then come across Alex Margoldsby in her little red velvet coat, or Freddy in one of his seersucker suits. And Nan was the worst. She had worn her fur to the hayride at Cyrus Dark's last month!

The only one who didn't mind it was Uncle Pippin. "It reminds people she ain't one of us," he said.

"Us!" thought Dandy Dark indignantly, thinking of Pippin's mysterious parentage.

Nan had turned the corners of her painted mouth down at Virginia's slight about Noel Gibson, but she quirked them up now in a smug smile.

"Such a lot of fuss everyone is making over this whole thing," she said in her old arch manner, with a wave of her fat, be-ringed hand. "In my day, a girl didn't have to stage a circus to find herself a husband."

They all were prepared to ignore Nan – it really was the only way to deal with her, and it was rumoured she was sore because her son Freddy had tried to 'take liberties' and Rebecca had boxed his ears. "She can take care of herself, that one," Drowned John had said appreciatively. The Margoldsby boys were out of the running, now, for sure.

Donna Penhallow, however, was not prepared to let it drop. She had been first cousins with Roger's wife, and remembered too well just what connection Nan had had with Noel Gibson. "How _did_ girls find husbands – in your day?" she asked, turning her own plump mouth up at the corners mischievously and using the tone of her voice to make Nan's 'day' seem aeons ago – practically Paleolithic.

As usual, Nan did not notice the slight. "Oh – at parties and things." Nan waved her hand airily again. "I bet there hasn't been a party in this town since the last time I left it."

"Then maybe _you_ should throw one," said Donna, who had had audiences with royalty, just as loftily.

"Well, it _is_ Alexandra's birthday next month." Nan rose to the bait. "Perhaps I will!"

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Nan kept her word – which wasn't worth much. The whole clan was invited to Alex Margoldsby's twenty-first. It was to be a splendid affair. Nan and her children were staying at The Pinery – once a fine old Victorian, where a certain "Aunt Becky" had taken her last breaths. Now it was Rose River's only hotel – a rather splendid one at that. They had all planned on snubbing Nan, but a party at The Pinery was really too good to pass up. Catered, too! And though no one wanted to admit it, there really _hadn't_ been a good party since Rebecca's coming out, and that had been six years ago now. Yes, things were getting very dull in Rose River, and Three Hills wasn't much better. Though they would never say that before Nan Margoldsby's face. Such airs!

"She can't bear to have all the attention on someone else's daughter," said Uncle Pippin rather astutely.

"It's really rather sad," said Aunt Margaret wistfully. "Nan is horrid and the boys are awful – always staying out too late, and being rowdy and such. But the girl – Alexandra – is such a pretty thing! And she looks sweet. But none of us will give her a chance, seeing as she's Nan's daughter."

"I'm in no mood for Nan Penhallow, part _deux_," said Pippin. "Whew! And Alex is as green-eyed as _she_ was. Likely I'll stay home that night, Margaret. I don't need any catered-Piney victuals."

"Oh, Pippin! Think of all the gossip you'll miss!"

"Gossip ain't worth getting tangled up in Margoldsby doings," glowered Pippin. "And I bet a lot of folks feel the same way as I do."

But Nan sent out invitations and most of them were accepted. Only a few declined with regret. Donna Penhallow ostentatiously refused, as did Dr. Roger, citing a previous engagement at a medical conference that week-end. Whether he really did plan on attending said conference was a mystery. Perhaps he was going to. Perhaps his loyalty to the memory of his long-dead little wife kept him away. Rebecca would go, however, and when Roger heard that Alex Margoldsby was sending away for a dress from St. John's he gave Becky an exorbitant sum and told her to get her dress no closer than Boston. And Becky did just what he said – a package bearing a green silk gown arrived at Beechurst not two weeks later. The dress was rumoured to have cost almost two hundred dollars –American dollars – when Alex Margoldsby's cost seventy-five.

Norma heard of the green silk gown and despaired. She decided that she would not go to the party after surveying her own closet. She longed to see Paul. She had not seen him since that afternoon at Beechurst's when she had behaved like a fool. She usually saw him at church on Sundays – the David Darks' pew was directly behind the Drowned John Penhallows' – but that family was rather lax when it came to church attendance. She had not seen him in almost three weeks. And oh, she longed to!

But how could she compete with Rebecca – in or out of green silk? All of her dresses were hand-me-downs from Adrienne, and most of Adrienne's had been handed down from Delores – or Sandra – that was the way it went in such a large family. And Norma's sisters were fair and preferred yellows and blue – just the sort of colors that looked worst against Norma's olive skin. She had a red dress that suited her even better than Rebecca's green silk would suit _her_, but Norma did not know that. It was cut so low in the front. And she felt that drew all the attention to her face – to her black brows – to her sharp chin and heavy nose. It wouldn't do. Norma was another who declined – with real regret.

Minnie put on her own pink party dress. It was too pale a pink to lend any needed colour to her fair features. She knew it and didn't care. What did it matter what she wore? But she _did_ spend all afternoon ironing Paul's pants and shining his shoes. As long as he looked well, she would be happy. Minnie sang as she worked and reminded herself to put together a corsage for Paul to bring to Becky. There were some nice white roses on the scraggly little bush she had planted in the front yard in a pathetic attempt to brighten things up.

Nelle Dark chose a yellow crepe. At the last minute she hung it back in the closet and picked a maple-red dress instead. Young Sam had been fond of her in red. He wept into her neck when she wore it and called her his "Canadian girl." But Young Sam was always rather sentimental at parties of any sort. And now that Paul had come to call on Rebecca, it was doubtful that Young Sam stood any sort of chance. Why not throw the poor fellow a bone?

Then Nelle remembered that Young Sam had snubbed her in church the week before. She had smiled at him and he had looked away. Her young, healthy blood boiled and she decided on yellow again.

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The day of the party came. Everyone tried to be nonchalant about it. They didn't want to give Nan Margoldsby the satisfaction. Well – they all failed miserably. The Pinery was lit up with Chinese lanterns and the catered meal was so elegant that Young Sam wasn't sure exactly what everything was. Or even if it was meant to be eaten. He was so afraid of eating something he shouldn't that he did not eat a thing, and then wept softly to himself when the plates were taken away because he had missed out.

Paul Penhallow shared Young Sam's predicament – which he solved by eating everything on his plate.

"You shouldn't have eaten that parsley," said Nelle, seated at his table. "It was a _garnish_."

"Well, I ate it anyway, wonder-angel," said Paul.

Alex cut her cake – a plumy, three-tiered, wonderfully iced cake, lit with candles and bowered with sugar-roses. Even Rebecca, they admitted, had never had such a cake. There were sparklers, and champagne, and everyone sang 'For She's a Jolly Good Fellow.' Nan Margoldsby glowed with satisfaction, her green eyes lit from within like a cat's in the deepening twilight.

And then there was dancing. Oh, the Darks and Penhallows were a clan of dancers! There wasn't a one among them who didn't know how to Charleston, and Lindy-hop, and foxtrot and waltz and gavotte and twelve steps more on top of that. Everyone's dance card was full. The band was loud – the windows were open and a cool little breeze came in – and brightly colored dresses whirled around and around, gay laughter and chatter filling the air.

Jasper Dark, despite his bum leg, could dance the tango and jive with the rest of them, but no one knew it. No one ever asked Jasper to dance, and he never asked anyone to dance with him. Minnie Penhallow, waltzing with Cliff Dark, saw him leaning against the wall, a small half-smile on his ugly face, and her heart melted with pity. He really wasn't such a bad soul. His suit was neatly pressed and in it you couldn't really tell that he was stooped and twisted. If only his face – and that terrible mouth – she excused herself and went to him.

"Oh – I'll dance with you, Jasper, if you like."

"That's awfully nice of you, Minnie," he said, and his mouth contorted into something like a grin. "But I think I'll stay here. Go back to Cliff, dear, and enjoy yourself – there's a girl."

Minnie was curious. "Why did you come at all if you won't dance?"

"To see what happens," Jasper said.

Minnie looked around. She only saw couples dancing – people talking – men smoking and women talking with each other. "I don't see anything," she said doubtfully.

"You wouldn't," said Jasper. "You've got too much singularity of purpose, darling, and you only see the good in people. I'm fine. Go and have fun – and leave me to it."

So Minnie did.

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Jasper saw much more than Minnie did because he knew everything about his clan. He had amassed a great deal of knowledge of them over the years of being pushed aside and ignored. When one isn't in the thick of things, one learns to observe.

For instance, Jasper's keen eyes caught Gladys Penhallow applying contraband lip-stick in a dark corner. He saw Charity Penhallow drink far more champagne than she should and go out on the dark verandah with old, bald Charlie Dark. He saw Young Sam about to cry again as the band segued into a sentimental tune. And he watched as Cliff Dark made a decision.

Cliff had been waiting his turn with Rebecca and feeling rather put out. Why did she dance with Paul twice before she danced with him once? Cliff considered himself the best dancer in his clan, and because he thought he had been snubbed his feelings were hurt. He thought fleetingly that Becky's dress really didn't look as expensive as all that. It was just a dress, after all.

When Becky took her turn with Young Sam, Cliff reflected that there really was something uncanny about a woman who was so crazy for books. Likely, he thought, furrowing his brow into the beginnings of a frown, Rebecca didn't even _like_ books. She was just putting on airs to make herself sound smart. Cliff remembered how she had tossed aside the bouquet he'd made for her – from flowers in Treewoofe's very own garden. Well, then, he hadn't made it, but his mother had. And Rebecca had tossed it aside!

Speaking of which – Cliff allowed him to scowl now with wild abandon – _what_ was the big deal about Beechurst? It _wasn't_ as nice as Treewoofe. Couldn't ever be. A thousand Beechursts wouldn't be as swell as place as that. If there were a million Beechursts in the world there would still only be one Treewoofe. How presumptious of Becky to expect him to live _there_ when they were married! Not that Rebecca ever intended to marry Cliff, mind you, but in Cliff's mind the deed was good as done.

Cliff began to recall that he had never liked red-headed girls. They were tempermental. And Becky's hair was a red as it gets. He much preferred girls with golden hair – pretty, gold, sugary curls. Like – like Alexandra Margoldsby's. Cliff watched Alex take a turn around the floor and reflected that she did look rather pretty in her lavender dress. Now _there_ was a dress! He liked that lavender dress far more than Becky's green silk. Two hundred dollars! From Boston! Cliff snorted. He called that extravagance.

By the time the song ended and every broke apart to get punch Cliff had made up his mind that he wouldn't take Becky after all. Poor thing, she'd be upset to hear it – but when Cliff's mind was made up, it was made up for good. Little minx! Little, book-reading minx, who tossed had his flowers aside! How Cliff pitied the man who got stuck with _that_!

Of course – there was the question of the ten thousand dollars. One could buy a lot of things for ten thousand dollars. Except – for happiness. And Treewoofe. Cliff watched Alex Margoldsby smile sweetly at Dandy Dark and nodded his head. Yes – he'd have _her_. He'd marry Alex Margoldsby and take her to live at Treewoofe and then he'd be happy. Far happier than he would have ever been with Rebecca.

A weight lifted from his shoulders! Cliff felt better than he had in weeks now that he had figured his plan. He might have gone over and told Alex herself what he had decided, but at that very moment the lights came on, and the people began to disperse, because the party was over.

No matter, thought Cliff rather sentimentally. Didn't he have his whole, promising life ahead of him? There was plenty of time to inform Alexandra Margoldsby that she – _she_ – had been chosen to become Mrs. Clifford Dark, of Treewoofe, Three Hills, P.E.I.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a long time before everyone recovered from Alex Margoldsby's party at The Pinery. Gladys Penhallow had drank too much champagne and gotten sick from it. Harold Dark and Adam Penhallow had gotten into a fist-fight over – what else – Rebecca. Not over their own chances with her. They knew they stood no chance now that Paul was on the scene. It was only that Adam had said Paul was after her for the money and Harold, who was Paul's first cousin, had said he wasn't. Adam's nose had been broken in the tussle and it healed crooked, which, Adam felt, spoiled the whole line of his profile.

Charity Penhallow was mortified because old, widower Charlie Dark wouldn't stop mooning over her. She cried bucketsful of tears over the sappy little poems he left in her mailbox. Not happy tears, mind you. She couldn't imagine what had given him the idea that _she_! And _him_! Charity was so embarrassed over the whole thing that she didn't dwell on the fact that the latter half of the party – the part after the champagne toast – was rather hazy in memory.

Brian Dark had had 'words' with Junius Penhallow because Junius insulted his wife's family. Brian was not afraid of making a stir when the situation required it and he had called Junius a few choice things – that rankled. Perhaps because they were true. Anyway, his wife and Mrs. Junius had been friends from childhood and now were very chilly to each other. A friendship of thirty years – ruined.

Faith Penhallow and her cousin Gloria were not speaking because Gloria had borrowed Gloria's new silver slippers for the occasion. If that had been all it might have been fine, but Gloria had lost one of them and it was never recovered. Isobel Dark cried for two days because her beau had danced with Rebecca. She had thought she might be safe with him because he wasn't a Dark _or_ Penhallow. But apparently he, too, had decided to throw his hat in the ring. Of course he stood no chance. But Isobel was inconsolable.

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By far the worst rift was between Nelle Dark and Young Sam. No one was exactly sure why. The more astute clansmen thought it was because Young Sam had danced with Rebecca three times. Everyone had thought they were close to making it up, but this was, definitively, a setback. Well, Nelle had almost as much Scotch in her as Young Sam did, and she used it to give him a tongue lashing to every one that would listen.

"Did you see him weeping when the fireworks went off?" she asked Uncle Pippin. "_I _did. He said they 'skeered' him – how we won the war with a baby like that over there fighting is beyond me. If it had been an army of Young Sams, the Nazis would have licked us for sure. You should have seen him when his pet sparrow died – cried quarts of tears and sang maudlin songs the whole night. I hear he was _dead drunk_ at Alex's party and Clifford and Paul had to cart him bodily home and tuck him into bed. They said he blubbered and was afraid of things being under the bed. Did you ever hear anything like it? A grown man! Afraid of the bogeyman! I ask you. _And_ you'd think he might trim his whiskers for a party, but he _didn't_ and I think it looked positively unkempt. I, for one, don't think his whiskers suit him, and he'd be had pressed to find a girl who _does_. It's none to pleasant to kiss a man with whiskers like that, let me tell you!"

"Then why did you do it?" asked Uncle Pippin, quite reasonably.

Some of what she said wended its way back to Young Sam, who had plenty to say himself. He roared about it, whiskers bristling.

"So I hear she's insulting my war-record now, is she? Someone should go and show her my V.C. Unpatriotic thing! You know she didn't write me nearly as often as she should have when I was overseas. I was lucky if I got a letter from her every week, and me fighting to defend my homeland – hers too! And when I did get a letter they were such silly, simpering things." Young Sam affected a high-pitched voice. "'Dear Sammy, don't go and get yourself kilt, and by the way, I have knit three socks today.' How's a man supposed to get down to the grit and kill National Socialists when his girl writes him letters like that? As for my sparrow, it was better to me than she ever was, the saucy little miss. _It_ never cared what my middle names was. My sparrow had enough sense to recognize that Beelby and Phemister are good upstanding family names. And a' course I cried when it passed on! What decent man wouldn't cry when one of God's own living things kicks the bucket? As for getting drunk, I won't say a word about that because I'm a gentleman. I _don't_ think it's right for a well-brought up girl to talk about drinking and such. But I _will_ ask you, sir, what is a party for if not for imbibing a little? There wasn't a man there who didn't take a sip and it's just like her to pick on me out of all of them. She doesn't like my whiskers? Well, I'll say nothing except that yellow dress Nelle wore didn't suit her a bit – made her look washed out and downright un-pretty. I'll dance with whomever I please and I don't please her. AND you tell her I ain't never had no complaints about my whiskers from any feminine creature – before _or_ since!"

Then Young Sam sat down right on the front stoop and cried so long and hard that even his mother wouldn't talk to him at supper. And Uncle Pippin laughed the whole way home.

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Norma Dark hadn't written any letters since the one she penned to Paul – that he had not answered. But she had such a lonely night while everyone else was dancing at The Pinery. She stayed awake until the last of the Chinese lanterns was put out – Norma could see them from her bedroom window – and until the last strains of music floated out over the bay. Then she went to her writing desk and wrote a short letter to one of her school chums, who was headmistress now at Summerside High School. A short, bleak, enquiring little letter.

Norma had been to Queens, a century ago it seemed to her now. She had won one of Peter Penhallow's scholarships and was the only of her sisters to go. She had studied _so_ hard, and she had gone on to get her teacher's certificate. Of course, Dark and Penhallow maidens never worked out so she had not needed – but Norma had wanted to show she could get _something_, even if it was useless. Well, it was only useless in theory. In pratice, she could do something with it. She could use that certificate to get away from Rose River.

Of course, getting away from Rose River meant getting away from Paul, but now that he was with Rebecca – oh, Norma had heard from everyone how they had danced together, how he was at Beechurst every day. Now that the worst had happened she had no reason to stay.

Yes, Norma's friend wrote, they did need teachers. Would Norma come? Norma wrote back that she would – in time for the fall term. It would mean a great deal of work in a short time but she would do it. She must get away – she must leave. She couldn't be here to watch Paul fall more in love with Rebecca every day.

Norma's father said that she might go, but Norma wasn't looking for permission. She was going to go. It was the only way. Her mother seemed unfazed.

"'Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child,'" Mrs. David sniffed.

"But 'children are the heritage of the Lord,'" Norma retorted. "Don't forget that! Oh, I know the Bible as well as you do, Mother. You made me read it often enough as punishment. Don't think you can use it as a weapon against _me_."

She packed her drab little trunk with her drab little dresses, and her books, and the few scant pretty things she had acquired over the years. Her trunk was only half-full, but each thing she put in it seemed to be a brick in the wall she was putting up between her herself and Paul. Soon she would be far away from him and she would have other things to turn her mind to. She welcomed it. Norma had spent a good deal of her life trying to tear down walls between herself and those around her. And now she was building one up willingly.

"It will only keep me from getting hurt," she told herself through numb lips. "I _will_ have some kind of life, even if he doesn't want me."

The only person she thought she would miss at all was Adrienne. Poor, sad Adrienne, who always sat listening and watching and waiting for – something. Who clipped newspaper stories about men who were thought dead for years coming home to their families. Adrienne, who had lost her love, too. In a real, too-final way. But then, Ady had been loved once. Norma had never been loved at all.

"Don't give up on life," she told her sister sternly. "_I_ haven't – and I've never really had any life to live. _You_ have. Don't give up on everything, darling."


	11. Chapter 11

Cliff Dark wasted no time moving from Becky to Alexandra. He made up his mind on a Satuday that he would have her; by Sunday he made his move. Cliff marched right up to Alex Margoldsby after church let out, when the rest of the clan was mingling in the old-graveyard. Drowned John, as usual, was chortling over his own tombstone. Margaret Penhallow laid some of her mauve iris on Laura Dark's grave. Cousin Virginia, of course, was whooping it up over Ned Powell. Her heart was still buried in the Rose River churchyard. It wouldn't do to let anyone forget it. Virginia debating going into hysterics. She liked to go into hysterics over Ned's grave at least once a month. But before she could decide, Stanton Grundy – couldn't they _ever_ get away from him? – came over to her and said,

"Good God, woman! Stop that caterwauling and let the man rest in peace!"

Virginia stood and narrowed her eyes. The only thing to do was walk away with a dignified air. But the chance for hysterics had passed. Virginia hated Stanton Grundy bitterly under her widow's veil for ten minutes. Then the choir began to sing, and it was _so_ much like the song sung at Ned's funeral Virginia felt she could let herself go again.

Alex Margoldsby was standing by a certain 'Aunt Becky's' grave with her pocketbook tucked under her arm and her gloves on her hand. Cliff took one of those little gloved hands and was pleased by the sight, because it made his own look so big and manly.

"Sweetheart," he said, trying to look down at her sentimentally. "Why don't we go for a drive?"

It is hard to be romantic in an old grave-yard, but Cliff gave it a valiant effort. In any event, Alexandra's eyes widened.

"What a lovely idea!" she said with a sweet smile. "You're _so_ clever, Cliff."

Cliff felt at that moment that he really _was_ very clever, and he led her to his coupé and made a solicitous show of helping her in the car. Then he got in beside her. Any other man would have hardly believed his luck, but Cliff never thought of luck. He didn't need to. Wasn't he Clifford Dark, son and heir of Treewoofe, of the grandest clan on P.E.I.? What need had he of luck with credentials like that?

They drove down by the shore road. Uncle Pippin saw the car flash round the bend and raised his eyes to heaven.

"Heaven help Cliff Dark," he said.

"Heaven help Alexandra Margoldsby," retorted Aunt Margaret, passing by. "Cliff is an over-fed, over-coddled baby. No one's ever said no to him in his life."

"Well, _she_ ain't likely to be the one to start," Uncle Pippin pointed out, thinking of Nan's hey-day, in which she hadn't said 'no' to many men. "And Cliff ain't no half-breed. At least _he's_ Dark and Penhallow through and through."

Aunt Margaret, whose mother had been a Milford, did not deign to respond.

It was a lovely, late autumn day. The maples had turned. The road was bowered in crimson splendour. There were little white peaks on the waves in the harbour, and the hazy purple sky of a far-off storm away out over the bar. It really was a warm, golden, pearl of the day. But Cliff did not notice the weather. He was too busy noticing all sorts of wonderful things about his companion.

For instance, she really was huggable, Cliff thought as he slipped his arm around her shoulders. She had a kissable dent above her upper lip, which he noticed when she leaned in to brush a lock of hair off of his brow. She smelled like something fresh and sweet, and her clothes were so neatly pressed and put together. All of her buttons were sewn on tight. She looked, Cliff thought, in a congratulatory way, like a woman who could keep good care of her man. Cliff remembered that Becky was sometimes a little unkempt. _Her _wool coat had a loose button on it. How, he wondered, could he have thought about marrying a woman like _that_?

Of course Cliff didn't mention marriage that day. Such a rapid courtship was sure to alarm any woman, even though the prospect of becoming his wife must be a pleasurable one. Cliff only meant to spend the afternoon getting to know Alex. Only – he ended up talking mostly of himself. No matter. Alex didn't seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to like it. She punctuated his sentences for him, with little smiles and nods, and "Oh mys!" and "Oh, Cliff, _aren't_ you wonderfuls."

This, Cliff reflected, really was more like it.

They spent the day together in this fashion, Cliff expounding on his favorite topic and Alex offered up her "Oh mys!" until the sun sank behind the horizon and the night came creeping up over the bay. As the last of the rays touched the little, lapping waves, Alex allowed him one kiss – but no more. Cliff was pleased. One kiss was fine for a drive out. Any more – well, that wouldn't be respectable.

They drove back to The Pinery in the deepening shadows, and Cliff helped Alex from the car. She looked for a moment as though she might drop her glove – she fumbled it – but she caught it. Cliff was glad. He couldn't ally himself with any woman who was so uncouth as to drop her glove in the drive-way.

"I'll come and collect you again tomorrow afternoon," said Cliff, very seriously to her. "We can go to the pictures or dancing. Something like that."

"Oh," began Alex, looking troubled. "I – I'd love to. But I couldn't possibly. I haven't a _thing_ to wear, Cliff. Really, I don't. I've worn everything dozens of times before and I feel like a such a dowd, wearing all of my old dresses over and over again. Really I do."

"I'll buy you something nice, sweetheart," said Cliff with a wave of his hand. "You needn't worry. We'll go to the shops tomorrow and you'll pick out any thing your heart desires. Does that suit, kitten?"

"Oh Cliff!" cried Alex, eyes aglow with love. "You really are the _most_ wonderful thing!"

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All that remained was to tell Rebecca it was all over between them. Cliff didn't relish the idea of letting her know that she had missed out on her chance to become Mrs. Cliff Dark. She would probably take it pretty hard. But it must be done, since it never could be so.

But Rebecca took it surprisingly well. Her large eyes shone and Cliff supposed she was willing herself not to cry. He appreciated that. Poor little Becky understood that she must make it easy on him, no matter what she was feeling in her heart of hearts. She was a sweet thing, after all.

"Just not for me," he said gently, patting her hand. "You understand, don't you dear, that it could never be?"

"I – understand," Becky said, choking back what sounded to Cliff like a sob. She hid her face for a moment in her hands and her shoulders shook.

"Hey now – hey," began Cliff. He put his hand on her shoulder. "There's plenty of other fellows out there, Becky, and I'm sure any of them would like to have you. Don't cry, dear."

"Oh – I won't," gasped Becky. She stood, with a dignified air. "I – I think I need to be alone now, Cliff."

"Of course," said Cliff, with a little bow. He was pleased with that little bow. It just popped into his head to do it, but it seemed like the right thing to do in a situation like that. "Becky," he said – gently – at the door, "We'll always be friends, you know. You needn't worry over that."

"It is a weight off of my heart," said Becky seriously. Cliff could see that she was trying not to cry and his heart felt tender toward her. "Good-bye for ever – dearest Cliff."

Cliff went down the road with a lighter step. He had really handled that well and was surprised at how fine Becky had seemed with it. Poor dear. She was crying in her room – crying quite a bit. Cliff could hear her whoops and shrieks down in the road. Well, she was young and she was tolerably pretty. Nothing like Alexandra. Nothing like what the mistress of Treewoofe and Mrs. Cliff Dark should be. But Paul had been coming around and he'd comfort her – heh heh! Paul was a talent at 'comforting' the women-folk!

Cliff went all the way back to Treewoofe, where he telephoned Alex at The Pinery.

"Put on your new dress and let's go out," he told her.

"_How_ wonderful you are!" Alex cried, and Cliff preened. He knew, after all, that he _was_.


	12. Chapter 12

Norma Dark had a few loose ends to tie up before she left for Summerside. The date of her departure was drawing nigh and she had started out dreading it. But then she began to look forward to it. It would be nice to feel needed for once, instead of only tolerated. It would be lovely to experience new things. Perhaps even to make friends. Norma had never had any real friends. She had never known anything, really, except for a flat gray existence at 127 Elm. Norma was beginning to realize that the world might not hold rainbow colour for her, but it did hold _some_ pale sunset glory. To be needed – to teach – to make others know things – it was not the same as being loved, but it was _something_.

Still. She had things to do. She had to find someone else to teach her Sunday school class. How she had loved that Sunday school class! She tried to make things pretty and neat and nice for them. She did not want her pupils to grow up hating the lovely passages in the Bible that had been ruined for her by her mother's squawking. Not any teacher would do – she wanted to find someone who would be kind to her little students. Someone who would not scare them with stories of fire and brimstone, but would make them see that God _was _watching. Even if He did not always answer every prayer.

And she had promised long ago to give Minnie Penhallow her recipe for egg salad. Any one who could cook anything could make egg salad but Minnie Penhallow had never had anyone to teach her to do things in the kitchen and was too ashamed to ask anyone but Norma to show her. Norma had never gotten the chance, but she wrote out the recipe now in black, precise writing and took it over to Drowned John's on her last day in Rose River.

She had gotten a new coat to take with her to school. Even Norma's mother admitted that her old one was threadbare. And if Mrs. David did not care overly much for her daughter, she did care what people thought of her family. She didn't want anyone saying that the David Darks didn't dress their girls. So Norma had a new wool coat – a dark, burnished orange coloured coat – the exact shade of the maple leaves before they exploded into crimson splendour. Norma _felt_ almost pretty in that coat. She actually looked very pretty in it. It made her skin creamy and her muddy brown eyes glow like polished amber, and her dark curls gleamed chestnut against it. She was happy and expectant as she went and her brows were lifted up because she was smiling. She felt so hopeful that she thought she might even be able to be cordial to Paul, if she saw him. Perhaps she would shake his hand and tell him 'good-bye' and that she was happy for him. And _mean _it.

She did not see Paul. She didn't see anyone at the ugly, run-down house but a frazzled-looking Minnie, who was sweeping the porch, and Drowned John, who was asleep in his armchair with a newspaper over his face. The pages fluttered as he snored. Norma felt a momentary pang when she realized she _wouldn't_ see Paul again before she went – that she would never have another chance to tell him how she felt before he took Becky as his wife. Of course he would take her, for Becky would have to be a fool to refuse him. And Uncle Roger's Rebecca was not a fool.

She had a moment of feeling wretched – but then she remembered herself and stood straight. "Here is the recipe for the salad I promised you, Minnie," she said, and handed her the piece of paper, on which she had written out directions very neatly and clearly so there would be no mistake. "I'm sorry I never got a chance to come and show you how to make it myself. I'll be home at Christmas – for a few days – perhaps I can show you then. Well – good-bye to you!"

And then Norma turned and walked away. Just like that. She turned her back on Paul Penhallow's sister and Paul Penhallow's sleeping grandfather and walked away from Paul Penhallow's home and she was trembling because she was thinking of how blue the sky looked over the harbour, and how nice and smoky the air smelt – someone must be burning leaves somewhere. Trembling because she was not thinking of Paul Penhallow at all. Even if she did turn at the bend in the road and look back at Drowned John's, where Minnie was still standing on the porch. She was just admiring the view! She was not thinking of _him_.

Well – not much.

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Minnie Penhallow stood on the porch and looked down at the paper Norma had given her with wide, amazed eyes. The same lavender paper – the same black writing – Minnie lifted it to her face. The same, sweet, lingering, powdery smell of lilacs. For a moment Minnie could not move. It – couldn't – be.

Norma Dark! Sulky, black-browed, jealous – oh, _everyone_ knew she was jealous – Norma Dark! Norma Dark had written The Letter! Had written those things to Paul! She – loved him? She had written that she did. And – Paul must love her. Paul loved whomever had written The Letter. And now Minnie knew that Norma Dark had written it!

She could not believe it. It must be a mistake. She had always pictured The Letter's writer as being someone pale and beautiful and smart and kind and golden-sweet, with a smile like a princess. There was no one like that in the clan. But Norma Dark! She was – she was nothing, _nothing_ like that. She was the least like that out of anyone.

It was too ridiculous. It couldn't be. Minnie went inside the house and climbed the stairs, and eased open the door to Paul's room. He was asleep on the bed. There were dark circles under his eyes and he breathed steadily in and out – Minnie reached stealthily under his pillow, holding her own breath. Yes, there it was. As it always was. In the dim light coming from the half-closed window shades, she compared The Letter to the Norma's recipe. Perhaps it was a mistake? Lots of people must have lavender, lilac-scented writing paper. But no – not only the same paper, but the same prim, black, sloping hand. Norma had written The Letter. There was no doubt.

Paul stirred in his sleep and Minnie went to shake him awake. How excited he would be! To finally know, and after so long! But then she stopped.

If she showed Paul The Letter, Paul would not marry Becky. And he had been spending so much time with Becky! He had gone to her the three times he promised and he was still going! Nearly every day! Perhaps he was falling in love with her after all. If Paul fell in love with Becky, and married her, he would live at Beechurst. Minnie had a delicious moment of imagining herself seated at the dinner table there and nearly swooned. No one would laugh at her if her brother lived at Beechurst. No one would care if mother dyed her hair purple as long as Paul was master _there_.

And – he must love Becky. He _must. _They were so alike. Both handsome – and smart – and they both had the habit of saying such queer things. Paul could never love Norma. He was so wonderful and she was so insignificant. They wouldn't _look _right together! She wasn't handsome – or even pretty! There was nothing the same about them at all!

Paul's eyes fluttered and Minnie bit her lip and counted a hundred. When his breathing had settled again she eased the letter back under his pillow and crept out of the room. Norma's paper had grown sweaty and crumpled in her hand.

Minnie was almost certain that Paul loved Rebecca – that he didn't care about The Letter anymore. About _the letter_. It was a silly, sentimental thing that Paul just held onto out of habit. It didn't even deserve capitalization! She was done with that. But – just to be sure…

Drowned John had an old-fashioned stove in his kitchen. Minnie lifted the lid and lit a match. She placed the paper Norma had given her on the lit coals and watched it begin to burn. It began to shrivel and tremble like a living thing. A line of Norma's writing came out whitely, vividly, as it scorched. Minnie cried out when she saw it, and poked the coals frantically, and as she did it, began to think she was doing a terrible thing. Oh, what had she done? Why had she done it? But then Norma's purple paper faded into ashes, and there was nothing left of it but the faint scent of lilac in the air. And after a moment, even that was gone, and with it, Minnie's guilt. She closed the lid and left the room, letting the fire die out behind her.


	13. Chapter 13

Let us turn our attentions to Rebecca and Paul Penhallow. Minnie Penhallow would have you believe that Paul was as much in love with her as man can be with woman. Clan gossip would have you believe that if this was not the absolute truth of the matter, it would be soon enough. But Paul Penhallow and Uncle Roger's Rebecca were having a very unromantic conversation as they flipped through the photo album in the parlour at Beechurst.

They were talking about Howie. They always talked about Howie when they were together. The two young people who had loved him most in the world – it was only natural that they should talk of him.

Paul had not planned on it. He got a queer feeling whenever Howie's name crossed his lips – a too-full feeling, as if his heart had taken up residence in his throat. He went to Rebecca the first two times because he had promised Minnie. On the third he was surly and restless. Wouldn't this hour ever end? Then he could go home and be done with this, and the devil take Rebecca Penhallow. Paul touched The Letter in his coat-pocket and willed the minutes to pass – faster – faster.

The clock chimed – the hour was up. Paul jumped to his feet. Rebecca did, as well. But – she did not look relieved as he was. There was a strange look on her face – the look of a drowning person who has the life-ring with in her grasp.

"You've come to see me three times," she said in a low, choked voice, "And …"

"And I haven't tried to make love to you." Paul gave a great sigh. He was eager to be on his way. "Pull your claws in, kitten. We can't all have what we want."

"You haven't said one thing to me about – Howie."

At his name Paul sat down. He was remembering too much. The time he, aged twelve, and on the Island for a short visit, and Howie, one year younger, had 'borrowed' Cousin Virginia's widow's-veil and made it into a kite. How they had been whipped over that! But how Uncle Roger had laughed! He hadn't wanted to whip them at all. "The boys have been very naughty," he told Peter when he came to collect his disgraced, sore-bottomed son. "But by George, Peter – how satisfying it was to see Virginia's 'weeds' flying out over the road like that."

Then there was spending the day with Aunt Margaret on another visit and exploring the lovely, musty attic at Whispering Winds together. Helping Howie's mother polish her Apostle spoons – the time Howie had fallen from an oak tree and broken his arm. "It doesn't hurt so very much, Paul," he had said – the brave little fellow! – his face blanched with pain.

They had been pen-pals. Howie wrote to Paul from his room at Beechurst and then Guelph, and Paul wrote back from a raft on the Amazon, from a yurt in the Mongol highlands, from his residences at Oxford. Wherever Paul had been in the world, Howie had only been a stamp and envelope away.

There were hosts of other memories, marching down like an army from some long-forgotten land. Learning to drive Dandy Dark's old jalopy together and jumping in fright as it back-fired – sailing in the bay – camping out before the fire in the Beechurst parlour – further back – Paul as a young boy, sitting on the porch at Drowned John's while the northern lights played overhead, his mother holding him near to her breast while Howie's mother rocked his cradle with her foot and sang something soft and sweet, in a low voice.

And more still. Sharing a cot in the trenches together. Listening to him read his letters from home – from Beechurst – from Adrienne – from Rebecca herself. Paul struggling to hear Howie's voice over the artillery fire. Seeing him charge ahead – following him. Only to get there too late, in time to see the life drain from his face, to hear him sigh out his last breath. Holding him in his arms as the life left his body.

It was too much. Paul could not stay there any longer. He stormed down the stairs and hopped over the door into Clifford's car. Then he drove to the shore, where he read The Letter twice, as the cool sea-air took away the sting from his cheeks – but not from his heart.

_Howie_, he thought, closing his eyes. He thought only of Howie.

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But then Paul began to think of Rebecca. Suppose, he thought, it had been him instead of Howie? He knew that Howie would have been kind to Miranda. Paul knew that with such a certainty that he felt ashamed of himself. And Paul Penhallow rarely felt ashamed of any thing he did. Well, shouldn't he be kind to Howie's sister? After all, Rebecca had loved him as much as Paul had. Maybe even more. And Howie would have wanted it.

And – it had felt good to hear his name spoken. Once it had hurt too much, but now it was oil on troubled waters. There was something healing in the fact that though Howie was gone, his name would not be forgotten. Paul went back to Beechurst the next day, with his tail between his legs and an envelope of photographs next to The Letter in his pocket, against his heart. He handed it to Rebecca, who looked through them hungrily, studying each one for a long moment before setting it aside.

A picture of Howie in uniform. In the training camp, getting his golden curls shorn off. A snapshot of him at the mess hall, and one taken on the day he had gotten his own V.C.

Rebecca pressed her lips together, eyes shining. "Did he suffer?" she asked hollowly.

She began to cry, pressing the heels of her hands to her poor, sad hazel eyes. Her red hair fell like a curtain on either side of her pale cheeks. She looked so lost and forlorn that Paul went to her and gathered her in his arms.

"No, angel," he said soothingly. "It was quick. He didn't even know what hit him – it was over that fast."

"Oh, _that_ doesn't make me feel any better!" cried Rebecca. "It should, but it doesn't, Paul. I don't want Howie to – to not have known what was happening to him. It's awful. A man should be able to face death and stare it down – not have it come upon him like a shock."

Paul thought back to the things he had seen – men groaning, sweating, holding on for hours, days, only to give in at the end, after a long, futile fight. "It's better that way, Becky," he said. "Believe me. It's better that he didn't know. He had his crowded hour of glory – he charged ahead with courage – and he didn't feel afraid. He knew it could happen but Howie – Howie wasn't ever afraid."

He kept his arm around her shoulder until the heavy feeling in their hearts faded. And then Rebecca said,

"Paul – you'll come to see me again – won't you? When you're ready – and you'll talk to me about Howie. _Won't_ you? No one ever talks about him. They don't want to upset Father. Sometimes, Paul, I think you and I are the only ones who remember him. And Adrienne, of course. But – I can't bear to talk about him with her. You'll come back – soon – and see me?"

"I will," said Paul, surprised to find he meant it. "I'll come back again tomorrow, 'Becca."

And he did.

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Whenever Paul and Rebecca were together, they talked about Howie. There was no sweethearting going on between them. But Howie was their secret. So when Mrs. David Dark saw Paul and Rebecca amble by her window, heads bent close together, she sighed with the air of one who knew all was right in the world.

"That will be a match," she said, pointing them out to Adrienne. She might have pointed them out to Norma, and spared Adrienne the sight of Howie's sister, but Norma was away now, and Mrs. David was not giving up her love of gossip for a broken-hearted daughter.

Paul and Becky were on their way home from the graveyard, where they had spent an hour dawdling over Howie's monument, talking of the old days, when they had all been children together, and laughing over some of their fondest memories. Yes – laughing. Rebecca and Paul learned that day that it is possible to laugh in the face of a loss.

"I've been neglecting my 'suitors' terribly for you, Paul," she told him, with a sidelong glance out of her hazel eyes. "Father says they've been haunting the place and saying terrible things about you for stealing me away."

"Let them say anything they want," said Paul, nonchalantly, scrutinizing the stars that were beginning to come out overhead. "I've never cared about what other people say. That's Minnie, not me. Where she gets it from is a mystery to us all. Look up at the stars, 'Becca. You can see the Milky Way. Do you know, when we were in the trenches, Howie watched for it every night? And wrote about it in some horribly sentimental letters to Adrienne. Said it was an enchanted ladder, and he would climb across it to her window. But can you imagine Mrs. David Dark's face if she found Howie in khaki at her upstairs portico?"

Becky could imagine it. They laughed together – and it felt _good_ to laugh.


	14. Chapter 14

Almost everyone had grown tired of listening to Young Sam and Nelle talk about each other behind each other's backs. Even Uncle Pippin was done with it. He shook his grizzled hand and put his fingers in his ears when either of them started up.

"I'm too old for it," he explained to Stanton Grundy. "And they're only going to kiss and make it up in the end."

"I'm not so sure," said Stanton doubtfully.

Jasper Dark was the only one who would still listen to what they had to say. Whether or not he was tired of it, only he knows, but he listened with an understanding air as each maligned each.

"Let him say what he wants – I don't believe there's anyone in the world who would like Young Sam's whiskers," Nelle said confidentially. "_Or_ his kisses. There might be some girls who are hard up for kisses of any sort, but I'm not one of them. And what a poor hand a sweethearting he was! Called me his little 'maple leaf.' That's hardly fair, is it? Not when other girls got to be 'kittens' or 'angels' or 'darlings.'"

"It is patriotic, though," said Jasper, with his ugly grin.

"Oh, patriotic? Yes – Young Sam is rather patriotic I suppose – but he takes it to a frenzy. He was beside himself at last year's Dominion Day dance. Drunk, too – as usual. And he walked home kissing every maple tree in sight. Didn't spare any kisses for _me_, if I recall."

"I thought you didn't like his kisses," Jasper wondered, quite reasonably.

"I didn't – but it would be nice to be noticed. Young Sam cares more for Paul Penhallow and his band of ruffians than he ever did for me. Something about being 'bonded together in war.' _I'm_ not going to be anybody's second fiddle, war or no war. Well, the thing I liked least about Young Sam was his awful habit of telling fibs. He's been at it since he was a child. You've heard the story about how he was treed by a mad dog? That never happened. It's one of his 'tall tales.' That's what _he_ calls them. But what is that but a fancy name for fibs? I teach Sunday school – I can tell the difference."

"There's something so romantic in tall tales, though, Nelle," Jasper defended.

"Romantic! Young Sam doesn't have a romantic bone in his body. Did I ever tell you how he proposed? No? Well, it was like this. I was in my mother's kitchen, washing the supper dishes, and here comes Young Sam bounding in. Who am I to say he'd been having a drink or two that evening? _I_ don't know -- I wasn't there. But I _do_ have a nose."

"Of course you do," said Jasper.

"And he takes my hand – still soapy from the dishwater, and he says, 'Nelle, darling, let's get hitched' Let's get hitched! Just like that! _What_ was I to say?"

"Apparently you said yes – for a time."

"I did – and if I could go back and undo one moment in my life it would be that."

"_Not_ the time you were caught stealing jam from Aunt Margaret's cupboard?" queried Jasper, with another grin.

Nelle tossed her hair and ignored him. Jasper, she thought, would do well to remember he was there to _listen_. "I sometimes thought he liked his dog better than me. He told me once he liked it better than his mother. Well, if I had a mother like Young Sam's – but I shan't be mean, I'll just say that it's an ill wind that blows no good, and Samuel Beelby Phemister Penhallow can keep his old dog, and his whiskers, and his drink and his patriotic songs – and go get hanged!"

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"Of course I like my dog better'n her!" roared Young Sam to Jasper. "Fido don't yap as much as she! And he's a d – d sight prettier than her, too, and you can tell her that if you wish! Complaining about my proposal – that's too mean. Why, the little whelp should be glad anybody'd propose to her at all. I notice she don't have much firsthand experience in that area to compare _mine_ to, when all's said and done. And as for the maple leaf remarks – I love my country and I ain't ashamed to say so. Didn't I risk life and limb fighting for her! Wouldn't I do it again in a heartbeat? For a Dominion as fine as this, yes, sir, I would!"

Young Sam got teary-eyed, then, as he always did when he thought about his military service. He would have cried outright but he was too angry. So he turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"And I'm getting pretty sick and tired of _her_ telling everyone I'm a drunk. _I'm_ not – but if I was, there's a sight worse things I could be."

"That's true enough." Jasper was laconic.

"She's always putting on airs about her Sunday School class," sulked Young Sam. "I could teach a Sunday school class with my eyes closed. She needn't feel so fine over something so puny."

"It was awfully nice of her, Sammy, for her to take over for Norma in a pinch like she did."

"Nice!" Young Sam bristled with indignation. "You go ahead and say that of her, then! Go right ahead! You ain't never been exposed to her _true character_. Why, the woman's a fiend! Hasn't got a pleasant thing to say about anyone behind closed doors. I should have knowed it would come back to bite me, now that she's going 'round saying these things about me. But what I've heard her say! She's got a wicked tongue."

"Every woman likes to gossip, Sam – it doesn't necessarily mean she's wicked."

"Well, she is," said Young Sam, nursing his wounded pride. "When Nelle threw me over she didn't spare my feelings a bit. You'd think she could. She just up and said to me one day, 'Sammy, I don't think I'll marry you after all.' Real abrupt-like. When a man goes off to fight for his country he should expect a bit more regard for his feelings. I wouldn't treat a dog the way Nelle treats me."

"Not even the mad dog that treed you?" smiled Jasper.

"Oh – you've heard that story, I suppose. Of course it isn't true! It was meant for a joke, only SHE hasn't the humour to see it. How many jokes I told went right straight over her empty little head!"

"Humour is a very subjective thing," said Jasper. For example, he found the present predicament very funny, but he expected Young Sam wouldn't.

"There you go with one of your college words again," said Young Sam ruefully. "You know she cast that up to me, too, that I never went to college with the rest of you. Of course I couldn't! The farm won't run itself. Cliff Dark ain't never gone to college either, but you don't see Nelle twitting him about it."

"Well, Nelle wasn't going to marry Cliff," said Jasper, fairly. "I guess it wouldn't matter to her whether Cliff went or not."

"Well, I for one wisht I had gone," Young Sam said. "Perhaps then I'd have had the brains to never get involved with HER in the first place. Say, Jasper – which of these books d'you think I should bring 'Becca when I go call on her tomorrow?"

Jasper perused the selection. "She has those two and she doesn't like Hemingway," he said. "Better bring the Robinson, Sammy. She'll like that. And I'd like to borrow the Wouk. I haven't read it yet."

"Neither have I," said Sam. That much was evident. "But you're welcome to it, and thanks a heap."

And then, he wondered, "You seem to know Becky pretty well, Jasp. Ain't you ever thought about throwing your hat in the ring?"

"No," said Jasper, putting his hands in his pockets. "I haven't."

"Well, why not?"

Jasper twisted his mouth up at the ends.

"If you looked like Rebecca, Sam – would you want to look at someone who looks like me?"

Young Sam gave him a critical appraisal.

"You ain't so bad," he said finally.

"I appreciate that," said Jasper drily. "I've got to be going Sammy – thanks for the book."

"Anytime," said Young Sam. Then, "Hey – Jasper! You ain't thinking about printing anything that Nelle said about me in the paper. Are you?"

"I realize it's all confidential," said Jasper gravely.

"Good – good. But say, Jasp – anything I said about her – print that if you want."

"I think that might be a compromise of my journalistic integrity," Jasper grinned. "Good night, Sammy, and stay out of trouble if you can."

"So long, old fellow – and keep your nose clean."


	15. Chapter 15

The Darks and the Penhallows had much to be thankful for that Christmas.

Dandy Dark was thankful because he had been elected from his district again. _Phew_! He wiped his brow. It had been close, but a man only had to win by one, after all. It didn't matter how close it was when all was said and done as long as one man had more than the other.

Charity Penhallow was happy because she had finally given Charlie Penhallow the good-bye. He no longer haunted the place, leaving love poems in her mailbox and singing up at her bedroom window under the full moon. Faith Penhallow had a new pair of slippers, and Isobel Dark's beau – Dark girls always had beaus, remember – had come back. Cliff was thankful he'd made up his mind not to take Rebecca. Alex Margoldsby _was_ turning out to be such a kissable thing!

Speaking of Rebecca, Minnie was thankful because Paul was still going to see her. His days had settled into a regular rhythm. He stayed out late, slept half the day away, and then went over to Beechurst, where he spent nearly every afternoon. Minnie was beside herself with delight. And on top of that – joy of joys! – Mother had decided peroxided hair did not suit her, and had dyed her locks back to their customary black. All was well in the world!

Norma was thankful, too. She had had a wonderful term at Summerside. She loved her pupils and they – she could hardly believe it – loved her! Her blunt, forthright character, that was such a hindrance to her in clan gatherings, worked well in the classroom. And she surprised herself by finding some humour buried deep down underneath her old sulkiness. She felt happier away then she ever had – ever in her life – at Rose River, and when she met her father and sister at the train station, Adrienne had smiled. It was the first smile anyone could remember from her since – well, since. Norma was the most thankful for that smile.

And the whole clan was head over heels flush with gratitude because Roger was well – Roger had been so sick – Roger had not died.

There had been an outbreak of measles in Three Hills that winter. Alpheus Margoldsby was the first person in Rose River to come down with it, and he was dreadfully ill. And even though he was not from the most distinguished family in the tribe, Roger went to him, and tended him. Alpheus quickly recovered, but then Roger complained of a head-ache – for the first time that any of them could remember he spent a day in bed. The next he had a pain behind his eyes, and they day after that, an alarmingly high fever.

At first, no one had worried. Measles were unpleasant, of course, but they were not often fatal. And surely Roger, their saviour, their golden man, couldn't be touched by something so undistinguished as measles? But by the end of the week his fever had not broken and a worried Rebecca sent for a nurse. The nurse advised her to send for her brother, who came, bringing along his worried little Meredith bride.

They had the doctor from Indian Spring, a man no one liked nor trusted, but one couldn't be choosy at a time like this, when the whole fate of the clan hung in the balance. If Roger died, who would tell them what to do? The doctor from Indian Spring brought a specialist, who dosed Roger with every kind of medicine he could think of. Still, his fever climbed higher. And one day, even the specialist said,

"There's nothing more we can do for him now. He'll have to come out of it on his own, if he's to do it at all."

At this, Rebecca gave a great, trembling cry, and flew to her father's bedside, where she knelt until the wee hours, pale and stricken and wan. "You mustn't leave, me, Father!" she cried. "Oh, please, don't leave me all alone!"

The news that Roger was dying spread from house to house. Everyone in the clan kept vigil. Most of them believed that Roger was something like an immortal, that nothing could fell him. Especially not measles. Did not the measles know that Roger was _Roger_? Still, they kept vigil because it was what one did in a time like this. A few of the more pessimistic souls gave him up. Cousin Virginia Powell went to her attic and got down her deep mourning. Even though no one wore it anymore. Wearing mourning was one of Cousin Virginia's greatest pleasures, and she expected to get some pleasure out of lie even if Roger did die.

But Roger did not die. At midnight, his fever broke. At two o'clock, Rebecca, who had not left him for a moment, noticed his rash had started to come out. At sunrise the specialist came in and felt his pulse – and said that Roger would live. Jacob Penhallow brushed tears from his eyes, and his little wife, whose uncle was the doctor at Glen St. Mary, began to cry outright. But Rebecca did not. She stayed by Roger's side and waited for him to open his eyes, and when he did, feebly, that first morning, she took his face in her hands and said,

"Don't ever do that to me again, Father, darling."

She tried to be stern but her voice was shaking and she felt as close to tears as she had been the whole time. How strange to cry now that everything would be all right!

Roger patted her hand. "I'll try not to, Becky. But there is that old idiom – cobblers going unshod, and all that."

Rebecca threw herself on his neck and finally sobbed.

When Roger was well enough to sit up in bed, two days later, he called for Rebecca to come in and she did, and sat down beside him, eyes shining.

"I know you've taken it as a joke until now," said Roger, taking her little hand – her slim white hand that was so much like Gay's! "But you must be married, Becky, pet. If I had died – someone must take care of you. Jake has his own family, and Howie is gone. So you see, you must take it seriously from now on. Don't you see that, dear?"

"Yes, Father," said Rebecca, subdued. "And from now on – I will. I'll get married – I'll find someone to take care of me. It won't be a joke any longer."

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Roger's recovery was slow. But the rest of the clan didn't see why they shouldn't celebrate the holiday. Now that he was well, they felt more like celebrating than ever. The customary Christmas get-together at Beechurst was out of the question, given Roger's convalescence. So where would they hold their party? Nan offered to host at The Pinery, but no one wanted to take her up to it. And so Drowned John, surprisingly, stepped up to the plate, and held his house up as the gathering ground.

No one was really sure about the substitution. Drowned John's house was so decrepit, with the paint peeling and piles of newspaper everywhere, dirty dishes always in the sink. But Peter Penhallow was feeling generous, and so he hired painters and cleaners to get the place in presentable shape. Then everyone felt better about going there. Donna Penhallow could cook well – when she felt like cooking at all – and once she had promised not to make any 'foreign eats' everyone agreed it would be fine to hold the party there. Better than no party at all.

Minnie beside herself with happiness. For once everything was clean and neat and there was a spruce wreath on the door and tiny fairy lights wound round the porch railing. The old gray peeling paint had been scraped off and a new coat of fresh white applied. They had a gorgeously decorated tree, and for once, Mother was in the kitchen cooking, instead of off getting her hair dyed or out gallivanting with her friends. Drowned John's lovely old dining-table was polished until it shone, and covered with Chinese silk table cloths and set with Delft china. Minnie swept and beat eggs and hung mistletoe with the wondrous air of one who has died and gone to heaven.

Norma, who had not minded the thought of going to the clan Christmas party at Beechurst, did not want to go to one at Drowned John's. Why was God so – impish, so perverse? She had just gotten to the point where sometimes hours at a time, sometimes a whole day, went by and she did not think of Paul. Paul, who, her mother told her, was at Beechurst every afternoon. Paul, who had sent Becky a cluster of hot-house roses when he heard about her father. And now she, Norma, must eat her Christmas dinner at his house, under his very nose, at Drowned John's, where Paul would be pulling out chairs and pouring champagne – where it would be a certain thing that she would have to talk to him.

But Norma had learned some confidence while she was away, and more than that, she had learned courage. She _would_ go – even if it killed her. And as Norma studied her pale, stricken face in the mirror, her heart felt so full of sadness and lost hope that for a moment, she really believed it _might_.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Nan Penhallow had decided to spend the holiday at home – at her real home – in St. John's. She took her boys with her. The clan was glad to be rid of them. They felt none too charitable toward Nan and her boys this Christmas season. Hadn't Freddy and his measles almost killed Roger?

But Alexandra stayed behind and was escorted to the party by Cliff. She was escorted almost everywhere by Cliff these days, the clan reflected. They were all amused when they saw him, dressed and shined, leading her trippingly up the lane. They nudged each other as Alex gave him a giggling kiss under the mistletoe. Cliff looked like a man who has suddenly found himself given the moon. But, as Stanton Grundy said,

"Who wants the moon? It would be a rather inconvenient thing to have,_ I _think."

"Where would you put it, for instance?" asked Uncle Pippin, slapping his knee. "Well, green eyed girls are for trouble, I've always said." And indeed – he had said that very thing at least once before. But when Pippin found a turn of a phrase to his liking, he rarely said it only once.

Minnie Penhallow's happiness was an almost palpable thing. Not only had her home been cleaned and shined and straightened, but Paul had given Becky a kiss of her own when they found themselves under the mistletoe together. Minnie was so happy about that kiss that she would have traded all of her pretty presents, along with her newly neat and clean abode, for it. Norma Dark saw it from across the room as she was eating her supper and two spots of color rose so suddenly in her cheeks that Penny Dark, who usually had no kind things to say about any woman, reflected that David's youngest was a tasty morsel after all.

Norma moved through the party like one in a dream. She tried to laugh whenever she could. Laughing kept her feet on the ground. She laughed as Young Sam and Nelle Dark tried to avoid being caught under the mistletoe at the same time. She laughed when Gladys Penhallow got lip-stick on her teeth. And when her father said grace as he always did, in his long-winded, pompous manner, her eyes twinkled across the table at the rest of them like little stars of mirth.

Paul saw her sparkling across the table and wondered for a moment who was that girl in the crimson dress that dipped low in the front, with the dark, jaunty curls and the creamy, milky skin. She must be a stranger, but what would a stranger be doing at the annual Dark and Penhallow Christmas fete? Paul wondered about it all through supper. Over dessert he noticed she was looking at him. What cause did this strange girl have to look at him like that – so hungrily, as if she were famished, as if she hadn't eaten in months? When Drowned John stood up to give a toast he realized it was Norma Dark, and wondered how he couldn't have known her. His very own fourth cousin, twice removed! Of course it was her! But Paul remembered he had heard something about her being away – somewhere. Well – she did look well. It had been a good change for her, being wherever she'd been. He'd go and tell her so.

"Oh, I _wish_ you hadn't said that," she said reproachingly to his compliments, and put on her coat.

"What the devil do you mean, woman?" Paul was amazed at being rebuffed. He wasn't often treated so by the fairer sex. "You aren't leaving now, are you, Norma?"

"I am," she laughed. "I've had enough Christmas tonight to last me for a year of Christmases." She took his glass of champagne, right out of his hand, and downed it in once fluid motion of her hand.

And then: "Paul," she said, "I hope you will always be very happy. I haven't told you that before, but I _mean_ it." And then she walked out the door, past the fairy-lights wound round the railing, and away down the lane. Paul watched her go and thought what a queer girl Norma Dark had always been. She had a strange way of talking around things. Paul would have liked to stay with her longer and to find out what she meant, but then she disappeared into the night and was gone.

And it must be said that in the excitement of things, Paul forgot all about her. He drank and ate and talked and laughed and had a fine time without Norma being there. In a more romantic story, he would have missed her, and wondered over her the whole night. Paul did not miss her, and he did not wonder over her any more that night. Or any other night. The truth is that Norma Dark didn't take up any more space in his thoughts than she ever had – and she'd never taken up very much.


	16. Chapter 16

Spring again! Almost before they knew it, the trees were in leaf, and the robins flew back from far-away lands. Blossoms unfurled. Mrs. Denzil Penhallow whitewashed her gate. There was no surer sign of spring than that. She did it every year, as regular as clockwork.

The ardour that comes along with the season had re-ignited itself in the hearts of the Dark and Penhallow young men. It was less than six months out from Becky Dark's intended wedding date. Already Aunt Margaret had started work on a lovely, whispering, silken wedding-dress. It was said that Becca herself had hied over to Whispering Winds to be fitted for it. And yet – they were no closer to seeing her make a match than they had been at the start of it all. For, as of yet, Becky had made no pronouncement.

Some of the town's 'outsiders' scoffed at this. They were dubious of the fair Rebecca ever making a match. "I don't believe she intends on being married a-tall," was Bobby Hodgkins' pronouncement. "She's just stringing you gullible geese along," said Stanton Grundy. The Darks and Penhallows paid neither of them any mind. Rebecca had given her word. And what the Hodgkinses and Grundys of this world did not know was that when a Dark or a Penhallow gave his word, it was as good as bond. Of course Becca would keep hers – of course she would marry. The only question that – still – remained was _who_ it would be?

Uncle Pippin's bet-book had Paul Penhallow as the far and away favorite, with Young Sam as a very distant second. Not because anyone believe Rebecca would actually marry Young Sam. It was only that that branch of Penhallows had a habit of coming out unexpectedly on top of things. You had Young Sam, the clan's biggest cry-baby winning the V.C. His father had survived a ship-wreck and his grandfather had won the lottery. That branch of the tribe was blessed with an uncanny luck. It was better to err on the side of caution. Although it must be said that in the current situation Young Sam would need all the luck he could get – Rebecca _was_ spending quite a lot of time with Paul.

Their lovely, chummy winter afternoons had moved outdoors with the advent of early spring. Rebecca took the first of the blue jonquils to Howie's grave. Howie had loved the blue jonquils that grew in such abundance in the Beechwood gardens in early spring. Paul went with her. Rebecca knelt and placed the bunch on the lovingly-tended little grave. When she rose, she brushed the dirt from her hands and then she turned to face him.

Her face was grave, there was a shadow over it. There was a quaver in her breath but she stilled it. And then she squared her shoulders and spoke.

"Do you want to marry me, Paul, this June?"

Paul Penhallow had been standing with his hands in his pockets, jingling his loose coins. He pulled them out of his pockets now so quickly that a jumble of silver five-cent pieces rolled over the road. He didn't even notice in his surprise. Was – it – possible – that cousin Becca thought – their friendly little get-togethers – meant – that _he _…?

Her little white face was upturned to him so beseechingly that for once in his life, Paul Penhallow, who had safaried with lions on the African savanna – Paul Penhallow, who had fought with valour in the Dieppe Raid – Paul Penhallow, who weathered Drowned John's drunken furies with a yawn – felt _fear_. Real, true fear. His hands trembled and beads of sweat broke out on his brow. Was this to be his fate for being kind to Howie's little sister? Was this the toll on those bittersweet afternoons of mutual remembrance and healing? Was he to be forced into a clannish marriage against his will? There was a faint perfume from his jacket-pocket, where a certain, much-beloved letter kept repose. The usually dashing Paul was actually so afraid that, for once in his life, he was shocked into being less than debonair.

"No," he said bluntly – and rather rudely.

To his surprise, Rebecca's flower-like face did not crumple in tears, as he was suddenly terrified it would. Instead, she smiled – smiled! – and breathed a sigh.

"Oh – thank God," she murmured, raising her clasped hands to her chest. "Oh! I can't _say_ how relieved I am! _I_ don't want to marry you, either."

Paul Penhallow was taken aback. It was none too pleasant to be proposed marriage to one moment and utterly rejected the next. Even if you tingled with fear over the one and felt near to weeping with relief over the other! His brow darkened in confusion and Becky laughed.

"Don't look so like a thundercloud! You can't have thought I actually _did_ want to marry you. I was just making sure that _you_ didn't want to marry me. For one terrible moment I thought you might say you _did_ want to. And – I might have said yes, Paul. Not because I love you or care for you in that way at all – but because I am so eager for all of – this – to be over, once and for all."

She sat down quickly on the sun-warmed grass and leaned her forehead against Howie's cool grave-stone. Rebecca Dark was not in the way of revealing too much of her inner-most workings to anyone. But she had started to tell them now, and couldn't stop herself from going on. The words tumbled from her lips in a rush, and it was plain to see that this was not a speech she had rehearsed – was not a speech she had ever dreamed of sharing with another soul.

"You can't know what it's like, Paul. With everyone looking at me all the time, and – and speculating – gossiping – clucking over who it will be! The line of suitors stretches down the block. Every morning when I wake I can hear them – look out of my bedroom window and see them – and at night I mark another day off on my wall-calendar and think, 'One more day of freedom gone!' This time six months from now I shall be married to one of them, Paul – one of my horrid clansmen who see me as 'Roger's girl' and ten-thousand dollars and nothing more. I shouldn't mind being an object to them if I fancied only one of those boys – but I don't – I don't! When father proposed it to me I was in a fog – I didn't know what it meant. I thought it would only be a good joke. I wasn't thinking clearly. I didn't see then what it would mean. I was so – depressed – then that it seemed tomorrow couldn't even come – much less that distant day when I should have to keep my side of the bargain. And yet I shall have to – the calendar mocks me – I shall have to pick one of them, Paul, and marry a man I don't love – and live beside him as his wife until 'death do us part!' Oh – I wish I'd never been born – or been born a man! Then I could take some pretty, addle-minded young thing and love her until her looks faded away. It's – positively – disgusting to be a woman in this 'modern age!'"

Having ended her fury of words, Rebecca sobbed. Paul Penhallow had seen girls cry before – silly, womanly tears, over spats and sentimentalities, and trivial things – but he had never seen one cry so forcefully, and with such passion. She sobbed as though her heart were breaking for nearly ten minutes by Paul's wristwatch and he could only murmur 'There! There!' and pat her heaving shoulders. Presently Rebecca dried her tears and looked up at him with mournful eyes.

"Have you ever thought," Paul asked, more because he felt something should be said than that he really wanted to know, "Of telling them to hang themselves and doing as you please? You could, Becca – there's no contract. You've not signed anything in blood, have you? Tell them all to go to hell and if they talk back – send them there."

Rebecca laughed, despite herself. Some of the color had begun to reappear in her cheeks.

"Don't you think I've thought of that?" she said tremulously. "But _you_ know what it would mean in a clan such as ours, Paul. It would be worse than the alternative. No one would ever look at me again. I'd be a disgrace – the one Dark lass who didn't keep her word. More of a disgrace than Nan Margoldsby, even. I'd make the families into laughingstocks. People around here would love to see us so. I'd live the rest of my life with it over my head. I don't think I could bear to be a pariah in my own clan – it's not a perfect clan – but its _mine_. Do you know, Paul, I don't have any friend in the world who isn't Dark or Penhallow?"

"You'll have to do it, then," Paul said, with certainty. Even his father and mother – the scurrilous Peter Penhallow and scandalous Donna Dark – hadn't ever flaunted clan convention to the extent Rebecca would, if she did _that_. Paul began to subtract family members mentally. It would be – lonely – to be a Dark or Penhallow in the world, loose and afloat, without clan moorings.

"_You_ don't know what it's like to love someone and have no chance at him," said Rebecca fiercely, in the silence that followed. Paul put his hand in his pocket and felt the edge of a worn piece of paper.

"Maybe," he said, "Maybe I do."

"You can't," said Rebecca, rising. She was matter-of-fact. "Good-bye, Paul. I don't think we should see each other any more – until – until it's all over. It's just giving everyone hope that we'll take each other and that isn't going to happen. You're distracting me, Paul and I've wanted to be distracted – but now I've got to get down to 'brass tacks' and find myself a husband. I _have_ to. So – good-bye for now. The next time we talk I'll be Mrs. Someone Penhallow – or Dark."

At the gate she turned.

"Won't this throw a crimp in Uncle Pippin's betting scheme – with you out of the running?" An impulsive dimple showed in her cheek. Rebecca was the sort that would make jokes when she was being led to the block. She looked so mischievous that Paul could not help grinning back,

"It will."


	17. Chapter 17

Paul Penhallow told his family at supper to brace themselves – there would be a lot of talk about him in the next few days. He wasn't going to marry Uncle Roger's Rebecca, after all.

"Why, we never expected you would, old fellow," said Peter Penhallow companionably.

"Let them talk," said Donna Penhallow, with a wavy of her beautiful hand and the air of a woman who has faced lions.

Drowned John guffawed. He liked a ruckus as much as anybody – mayhaps more.

Minnie Penhallow said nothing. She was not there to hear the announcement. Minnie had called down at Whispering Winds that afternoon to show some of her crochet to Aunt Margaret. Aunt Margaret had a knack for all things domestic. They had spent a companionable afternoon unraveling stitches and resetting them. It was only when Minnie was on her way back to Drowned John's that she heard the news. As all news did in such a clan, this had traveled fast.

"So I hear it's all off between Paul and Becky," said Uncle Dandy Dark, stopping his automobile in the middle of the road to talk to 'Peter's girl.' Minnie, who had not heard this news herself, did not quite believe it. She told Dandy as much, her brow furrowed and her little rosebud mouth screwed up angrily.

"And I _won't_ believe it until I've heard it from Paul himself," she said passionately. There were two sudden spots of colour in her pale cheeks.

Dandy Dark did not like being talked to so rudely by a little chit of a girl and so he cried,

"Bless my soul! I've had it from Roger's _Rebecca_. It don't get much closer to the horse's mouth than that! I was up at Beechurst today and saw her in the parlour with Young Sam. Asked her what she meant, when it was as good as tied up between herself and Paul and she said that it wasn't and it wouldn't be. So there, miss!"

Uncle Dandy started his car and drove on with a contented air. He had gotten the best of Miranda Penhallow in that situation. For her part, Minnie was chagrined to the point of naughtiness. She stuck her tongue out at Dandy's retreating jalopy and then burst into a flood of hot, dismayed tears. She cried the rest of the way home, sending Mrs. David Dark, who spied her from the front window, into a true gossip's fever of delight. _What_ could have caused young Miranda to weep so openly – in _daylight_ – and onn the public road!

Paul met Minnie on Drowned John's front porch. He was smoking and had his shirtsleeves rolled up. He leaned his tanned forearms on the white-washed rail and beheld his sister in all her tear-stained glory.

"So you've heard the news?" he asked, trying to look grave, and failing. His eyes twinkled despite his best efforts to the contrary.

"Yes – I've heard – and I think you're beastly," sobbed Minnie. "You're smiling – you can't even hide it. And I'm so miserable, Paul. We'll – never – eat our Sunday roast at the Beechurst table now. All – of my hopes – are _gone_."

She looked so dejected and desolate that Paul could not help laughing. "Oh, Min!" he chuckled. "What will you have left to say if something truly terrible happens?"

"This _is_ terrible." Minnie refused to be drawn in to his amusement. "I should have known you would throw her over, Paul. You – always – have such a way – of being contrary."

"Who says I threw her over?" Paul's dimple deepened, and Minnie's mouth fell open over her little white teeth. She was so surprised that she forgot to cry.

"Paul! You can't mean that Becky said she wouldn't have _you_!"

"That she did," said Paul, in mock ruefulness. "Threw me over and wounded my pride. Well – not really. But she did say in so many words that she wouldn't have me."

"She is a fool," said Minnie rudely. Her tears had given way to a hot flush of anger.

"A fool for not loving me? Miranda, what if she happens to love someone else?"

"She couldn't love anyone _but_ you." Minnie tossed her head. "There's no one in the clan so perfectly matched for her. You're the one she should have chosen, Paul, and she would have if she had any sense."

"What a boring world this would be if everyone took the one they 'should have chosen.' Minnie – poor Minnie – you've never been in love."

"No, I haven't." Minnie drew her mouth up with proud primness.

"Then _you_ can't know. Don't call Rebecca a fool, Minnie. She's wise enough to know that she doesn't love me and so she can't bind herself to me. For that matter, I don't love her. Minnie – you wouldn't have me married to someone I didn't love? Even one so rowdy and disrespectful of social traditions as me _can_ feel love – needs love, true love. You're wishing under your golden hair that something will happen to change everything – that something will make me marry Rebecca after all. Aren't you?"

"Yes," Minnie admitted.

"Don't, darling. You know – you know, Minnie, that there is only one woman for me. I haven't found her yet – won't be happy until I do find her. But I still have a little hope that I will, one day. Marrying Rebecca would make me unhappy because I don't love her. Worse still, it would take away my hope. Don't consign me to a lifetime of unhappiness – not even in dreams, dear one."

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It was the frankest that Paul had ever been with his sister. She thought over his words for a great deal of time in the days following, when the rest of the clan hummed and buzzed over the news of Paul's jilting. For Paul had indeed taken the high road and let everyone know it was Becky who had refused _him_. Not the other way round. It would never do to make it appear that Uncle Roger's Rebecca had been jilted herself – or even that the decision was mutual.

He played the part of heartbroken suitor well. Dark circles came out under his eyes and he lost his appetite, pushing his food around his plate at meals and eating not a bite. He paced his room at night instead of sleeping – Minnie could hear him from her own chamber down the hall. She began to think that maybe Paul was not playacting. She began to think that his heartbreak was real.

"And it's all my fault," she whispered piteously to herself.

She had begun to realize what a terrible thing she had done in burning Norma's letter. What a selfish thing it had been to do! Minnie had not often been selfish in her life but now she felt that this one selfishness took away from a lifetime of unselfishness. She closed her eyes at night and prayed for forgiveness. At times she wished so hard that she could go back and undo what had happened that it seemed a surprise she could have done it in the first place. It seemed at times that she _couldn't_ have done it – but then the realization that she _had_ washed over her in sick, cold waves.

And she could not tell him what she had done.

She started several times to do it, but each time the words died in her throat. Oh, he would be so angry! And really, she couldn't bear for Paul to be angry with her. They had been through so _much_ together in their wild, untraditional upbringing. If Paul turned away from her, Minnie thought desolately, as he surely would do if he heard what she had done, who would she have left?

"No one," she trembled. "No one at all."

Minnie did not mind that no one else in the family really cared for her – oh, Mother and Father did, in their way, but they _must – _they were her mother and father. But besides Paul, not one person really _loved_ her. And even he would not love her any more if she told him what she had done.

And other than that (for Minnie was not really as selfish as the story makes her out to be. She really _did_ have her good points. It was only that she really had believed, in her secret heart, that Paul and Becky would be the perfect match) – other than that, it would _hurt_ Paul if he knew that she, his only sister, had done such a thing to him! Minnie pictured the wounded look that would play upon his face and her own brows lowered mournfully. Donna, passing through, saw her and laughed.

"What a little sourpuss! You look exactly like Uncle David's Norma when you do that, Minnie. It really is uncanny! But there is a bit of a family resemblance between us and that branch. Poor Norma! She really is a plain, dark little thing. I _like _her – she looks as though she might have interesting secrets. I spent all afternoon up at 127 Elm but not a one would she spill."

"Oh," Minnie cried suddenly, "Oh – is Norma at home?"

"Yes – has come down for a short visit from the girls' school. Adrienne has been 'ill' – gone into one of her hysteric moods as she is wont to do. Aunt Margaret calls them 'fits of grief,' but I was a little war-widow as Adrienne almost was, once, and I know better. That girl would be better off if she got herself a hair-cut and a new dress and found a new man to take her mind off of Howie. But she won't she's got no gumption. Aunty Georgina has just drained it away from most of her girls – but not Norma. Yes – she's home, but she is leaving tomorrow on the 8:30 train."

And Minnie knew then what she must do. She went to her room and put on her second-best dress and her hat and gloves – and gathered her faded parasol and set off. Parasols were beginning to go out of fashion but Minnie had heard an old relative say that they were the last bastion between a lady and her decency. So Minnie clung to hers. The hand in which she held it trembled – but she was firm with conviction. She went to do what she had to do.

Norma _was_ home – answered the door when Minnie lifted the old knocker. No new-fangled 'door-bells' for 127 Elm! She looked a little amazed to see Minnie before her. They were second cousins or something – they were related, at least – but they had never 'run together.' Truthfully, both of them were outsiders in their clan – they had never 'run' with anyone – but even if they had been at the thick of things they still would not have much to say to each other. Minnie was disapproving of Norma. She was so black and sarcastic and impertinent! Norma had none too much of a liking for Miranda, either – she thought her pale and wispish. A prunes and prisms doll-baby! They regarded each other warily now.

"Well, what is it?" asked Norma rather rudely after a few attempts by Minnie to speak. She drew her black brows together and glared. Minnie shrank under her glare. _This_ was to be her sister! But she had come to do something and do it she must, for it was the only way to make Paul happy – and to undo the terrible thing which she had done.

"I have come to tell you that Paul loves you and will marry you if you will only go to him," said Minnie in one rush, and Norma's brows shot straight up. She stared incredulously.

Minnie quaked. Astonished Norma was worse than glowering Norma – Minnie had seen Norma glower before but she had never seen her look so completely amazed. What would she do next? Would she laugh – cry out – throw her arms about her? Minnie was quite prepared to sacrifice everything for Paul's happiness but she did not know if she could stand for Norma to embrace her. _Not_ when she had once dreamed of Paul – and Becky – !

But Norma did not of those things. The shock drained from her face and her eyes grew large and black. She leaned forward and slapped Minnie on her white, prim face – and again for good measure!

"That will teach you to come and poke fun at me!" Norma cried, shaking with rage, and then she burst into hot, furious tears – and flung closed the door in Minnie's face.

Minnie knocked again – knocked for so long that her knuckles ached – she pounded the door. But Norma did not come back. It began to grow dark. Minnie folded her parasol went dejectedly away. She had tried her best – and failed miserably at it. There was no other way she could think to make it up to Paul.

"What a beast I am!" said Minnie to herself, as she hung her head and went. Oh, if _only_ she had not burned that letter!


	18. Chapter 18

"Nan Margoldsby is going back to St. John's next week for good," remarked Joscelyn Dark one day, and Cliff Dark reflected with a sound between a sigh and a groan that he really shouldn't put it off any longer. Of course he had always meant to ask Alexandria to marry him. Only – he had grown fond of the single state and had no real haste to see the end of it in matrimony. Not even to Alex – who was a sweet little intoxicating thing!

He had lived his whole life as his mother's only son, and heir to Treewoofe and all its lands. Cliff liked his life – didn't want it to change. It was only when it dawned on him, as he was tying his necktie before the mirror – that getting married didn't have be the end of everything. Why, he'd still live at home – with mother – it would only be that _two_ women would be devoted to him instead of one. Cliff Brylcreemed his hair and smiled at himself satisfactedly. He _was_ clever, as everyone was always saying!

He made the little drive to the Pinery in good spirits.

"Come for a drive," he said smoothly to Alex. My, she looked nice in the little peach wisp of a dress he had bought for her last week! Cliff opened the door. "Hop in."

Alex hopped – but without _quite_ as much enthusiasm as she had always hopped before. Cliff noticed it and puffed up considerably. Little dear! She was angry with him. She had been wanting him to ask and he hadn't and so she feared he might never do it before she had to leave! Well, the sweetheart needn't fear any longer. Cliff drove to the top of a tall bluff, quite near Treewoofe, shaded with trees. He had decided long ago that if he ever did ask a woman to marry him, it would be in this place. It was as satisfactory a proposing-place as ever existed.

Alex was examining her fingernails. Put-on nonchalance! When even she must know what was coming. Cliff took one of her hands in his.

"Little heart," he said – he had always meant to say this very thing when he proposed to the woman who was to be his wife and had practised it before his mirror on numerous occasions. "Won't you marry me, darling?"

Alex looked up, positively shocked, and Cliff could not contain his mirth. He laughed at her – in what he thought a loving way. It was actually very condescending of him, but he did not know that. So she hadn't expected it! Was what he thought. She was shocked at it! And amazed! Perhaps she had never considered that she would actually have the chance to become Mrs. Clifford Penhallow. Well, she had been wrong – good luck for her.

And then Alex did an amazing thing. Alex began to laugh, too.

She laughed for so long that Cliff thought she had gone into hysterics. She laughed on. She laughed for so long that Cliff began to think that perhaps she'd taken a fit. She held her sides, and tears of mirth came out in her eyes. Several times she looked at him and started to speak, but was carried away by a fresh burst of laughter.

"What is so funny?" he asked finally. It was Cliff's opinion that a woman shouldn't laugh when she was about to accept a proposal of marriage. She should shed a few, maidenly tears – and tremble a little bit. But not laugh. He was very dour – suddenly, very all of a suddenly, Cliff began to have a queer feeling that Alex – his Alex – was not laughing _with_ him.

"_Marry_ you!" she said finally.

"Yes," said Cliff, thinking that perhaps she was _asking_ him if that was, indeed, what he had said. He had said it – but he was beginning to wish he hadn't. Somewhere at the back of his brain, a slow realization that things were going rather badly began to take form.

"Marry _you_!" Alex giggled. "Why – thanks all the same, Cliffie," she went into another bout of giggles but righted herself. "Thanks _ever_ so much – but no."

No – _no_ – NO? Cliff had spent a half-hour before his mirror rehearsing out what he would say when she accepted. He meant to call her 'darling' and kiss her little white hand with the painted red nails and tell her, with a sentimental look, that _this_ little white hand held his heart. He had not rehearsed what he would say if she said no. He had not supposed she would say it. Why would she? What kind of a crazed she-thing would ever dream of refusing him?

Consequently, Cliff found he had nothing to say. He simply gaped his mouth open and closed it – a few times over – so that he rather resembled a very large trout.

Alex took pity on him and stopped up her giggles. She patted his hand rather nicely.

"I've been engaged to Rick Tetherton back home for _ages_," she said as an attempt of making things right between them. Cliff was positively stunned.

"But you," he began. "But we …" He did not know a delicate way to say that she had been only too willing to be on the receiving end of his kisses – and his presents – Cliff suddenly realized that he had spent a great deal of money on Alex Margoldsby in the past months.

"But you seemed to be enjoying yourself with _me_," he finished lamely.

"Oh, I was," Alex agreed. "I figured if I had to be stuck in this pokey old backwater I might as well have a good time. And you've showed me a swell time, Cliffie. Only I never supposed you would take things so seriously! You dear thing!"

That 'dear thing' was the final nail in the coffin for Cliff.

Gold hair was suddenly naught but gilt and what he had thought of as her sweet, womanly ways were now cunning and sly. And he – Cliff Dark – he had refused Uncle Roger's Rebecca – thrown her over – for this!

"You are not the woman I thought you were," he said, in a bit of a daze, and his eyes were suddenly so piercing and accusatory that even Alex Margoldsby – shameless thing! – felt a _little_ shame.

"So wags the world!" she said, pretending to be hugely amused, in order to mask the fact that she felt rather uncomfortable with her actions. She shrugged her shoulders – her _bony_ shoulders, Cliff noticed. Why, Rebecca was a girl with a little meat on her bones! How could he have done away with that – and for this!

"Cheer up," said Alex, when a dejected Cliff dropped her by the Pinery. "Give it a few weeks and you'll find some other girl to lead you around by the nose."

She began to laugh again as Cliff backed down the lane, and he told himself that she was obviously not all there in the head, as Uncle Pippin would say. _She_ had refused _him_!

"What is wrong with the world?" wondered Cliff. He just plain _couldn't_ understand it!


	19. Chapter 19

Norma Dark stepped off the train at Rose River, and immediately an old, heavy feeling lighted between her shoulders, pulling her back down to earth. How terrible it was to be home! These past few months in Summerside had seemed like a dream. Norma had defied her name, becoming as light and airy and happy as a sunbeam. And now, to be back home? Why couldn't the school year last forever?

With every step she took toward the station-yard she felt her features being rearranged into their erstwhile placement: her brows drawing together sulkily and her mouth taking on its bitter, tired, downturned slant. She collected her trunks and stood with her arms crossed by the gate. Her father had been supposed to collect her, and Norma thought Adrienne might come along, too. How she had missed Adrienne—the one thing she had missed about home!

But they were late in coming, and Norma breathed a guilty sigh of relief. She was glad for the few extra moments of peace before being thrust back into the cheerless existence that was life at 127 Elm. How nice to be able to sit and breathe the late afternoon air, to feel the warm sun on her face! How nice not to have anyone picking at her, comparing her to other, prettier, nicer girls! How nice to be able to avoid her father's piousness and her mother's pettiness for a few moments longer! No—Norma did not mind their delay—at first.

It was only when her back got tired of sitting on the hard little iron bench that a little flash of irritation went through her. What could be keeping them? She _had_ wired and said she was coming home on the twenty-seventh, hadn't she? Yes—she had—she remembering it precisely. And today _was_ the twenty-seventy—wasn't it? Norma flicked open her pocketwatch. It was the twenty-seventh, she had wired that it would be the twenty-seventh she was coming. And here she was, the train come and gone over an hour ago. So where was her family?

She saw Jasper Dark pass by in his secondhand automobile. He slowed to a stop when he saw Norma, smiling chummily and lifting his hat.

"Back in town, eh, Norma?"

"Yes," said Norma unpleasantly. _What_ a ridiculous question! Norma knew that, as a teacher, she should encourage her pupils to ask questions, and to tell them that no question was too silly to be answered. She had always listened kindly to her students, but she could not muster the same understanding for Jasper. Of course she was back! Jasper had two eyes, after all, and he could well see for himself that she _was_ home. So why, then, did he ask it?

"Need a ride?"

Norma longed to say yes. She was tired of sitting out here on this dusty road. The skin of her face felt stretched and tight. She knew she must be developing an horrendous sun-burn. If Adrienne developed sun-burn her mother would soothe her with cold cloths and poultices. But to Norma, she would only sigh and shake her head. And then she would remark that _some _girls might not care if they ever caught husbands, but…

Norma chewed her lip. Her father could be coming along at any moment. If she was not there when he arrived she would almost certainly be subject to a lecture on inconsiderateness and rising gasoline prices. No, she had better not risk it.

"Thanks all the same, Jass," she said glumly. "But I'd better stay. They'll be coming along soon."

"All right." Jasper gave her another cheery smile that distorted his already ugly face. "See you around, then."

"See you around."

Another half-hour passed. Norma began to wish fervently that she had taken Jasper up on his offer. She did not like the looks of that dark, low cloud in the west—oh! Fat raindrops began to spatter her hat and coat and she barely had time to drag her trunk underneath the little lean-to before the heavens opened and a positive deluge commenced!

For a little while Norma was pretty miserable. The wind blew the rain in sideways and she threw up her hands. What was the point of being under a nice, dry roof if the rain was determined to come at you from all around? Thunder rumbled ominously, and lightning flashed in the distance. Norma felt her nose grow cold and she knew that it was wet. Worse than that, every so often a raindrop would trickle down and drop off the end of it in a most ridiculous fashion!

She heard the sound of a motor coming near and her hopes rose in her chest. She stepped up to the road and raised her hand so that the driver would see her there. It was almost certainly someone in the family—no one but Darks and Penhallows lived out along this road. Perhaps it would even be her father, come to retrieve her at last.

The motor-car stopped alongside, splashing mud. But Norma did not care. She was already soaked to the bone, and the hem of her dress was deep in mud from the wet grime of the station yard. Her pretty dress! She had chosen it especially for her homecoming. Now she only felt irritated at herself, thinking of what Mrs. David would say when she saw her. _White lawn for traveling, Norma?_ _My, my, they _must_ be frivolous sorts of folks up Summerside-way._

The rain-flap was unbuttoned and a familiar, handsome face peeked out. And _then_ Norma was completely miserable. Why, she thought, mentally shaking her fists at whatever gods might be, must you send Paul Penhallow along this road at this time—if you were going to send anyone! It was too, too unfair.

Norma wanted nothing more than to step back into the lean-to and be carried away by the storm. But Paul had already stopped and was regarding her coolly. Silence stretched out between them—a hot, awkward silence. Why didn't she speak? She must say something or risk appearing even more ridiculous than ever.

"Will you give me a ride?" she asked finally, formally, yet still surprised at the ungraciousness of her tone. "My father was supposed to pick me up but it seems he has forgotten me?"

"Well," said Paul slowly. Norma felt her temper flare. Was he going to refuse to take her into town? Was he going to leave her out here in this rain and wind? _What_ a gentleman he was! How stupid of her to ever have liked him—and how exceptionally stupid of her to like him still. But she could not help liking him, still. He was so handsome, so dashing—even if he was a complete and utter Visigoth.

"Do not think of putting yourself out over a trifle such as _I_," she said primly. "I am perfectly fine out here and do not mind waiting. If you are so busy, you may drive on."

Paul glowered. "I never thought of leaving you out here, you silly dame. What do you take me for? It's only that I can't take your trunk along. The boot is full of father's tools. I don't think I have room for it."

The rain was making its way down Norma's neck in chilly rivulets. "Leave it here," she decided carelessly. "I'll come and get it tomorrow."

Paul reached over to open the door. "Hop in," he told her, and Norma, despite herself, hopped as she was bidden.

They drove a long way in silence, Norma clapping her hands together to get them warm. From time to time she snuck sidelong glances at Paul. He stared straight ahead, through the wind-shield at the rain. Why wouldn't he look at her? Did he really think her so insignificant? He had not even asked about her trip. A flush of indignation started at the center of her being and crept to the outer edges of her mind.

What a rude boy he was! He had none of the common courtesy that one could expect. He was completely lacking in basic human kindness. The more Norma looked at him, the more angry she got. Finally, trembling, she reached forward and grasped the steering wheel, turning it sharply to the left, feeling a hot rush of satisfaction as he finally looked at her—_glared_ at her. He had noticed her now, oh ho, he had!

Paul braked and steered the car onto the shoulder of the road. Then he turned to Norma and pinched her nose roughly between his thumb and forefinger. _Very_ roughly—her eyes watered at the sting of it.

"You little idiot!" he shouted. "Why did you do such a stupid thing? You might have killed us."

"I don't care!" Norma, shaking with fury, leaned forward and boxed him soundly on his ears. "You're a horrible, hateful person and I—I—"

"Hate?" supplied Paul sarcastically.

"I _hate_ you!" Norma finished. "Always going about with your nose in the air, thinking that you are above everyone else. Thinking _you_ are exempt from common courtesy. Well, I've news for you: you aren't! And I want an explanation from you, you ignorant baboon: Why did you never answer my letter?"

Paul ears ringing, had been in the act of lifting his hand to slap Norma across her ruddy cheek. Now, slowly, he lowered it. He stared at her so piercingly that Norma felt suddenly weak with humiliation. She could not bear to be in this old tin can with him a moment longer! She opened her door and prepared to go out into the rain. But there was a sharp tug on her arm, and she sat back, surprised.

"What letter?" Paul growled, keeping tight hold on her arm.

Norma, white-faced, turned away. "It doesn't matter. Let go of me, I must get home."

But he would not let go. Slowly, and deliberately, he reached up and took her chin in his hand, turning it so that their eyes met.

"What letter?" he asked, quietly now.

For a moment the only sound was the rain falling on the roof of the car. Norma looked down at her lap, her cheeks burning.

"It's nothing—really." Her voice was low. "I—wrote to you—years ago. During the war. I—wanted you—to know—that I thought—that I thought—and _you_ never wrote back! You might have written back to me, Paul, even if it was to tell me I was a stupid, insignificant little child! Oh—_why_ didn't you?"

"You didn't sign it, you little imbecile. Norma—Norma! Do you know what this means? It was _you_, darling—it was you all along. Right under my nose—what a fool I've been. Why did you never speak of this before? What fools we've _both_ been, sweetheart—sweetheart Norma, my Norma!"

Norma lifted her eyes, incredulous. Surely she must be dreaming! Surely Paul Penhallow could not be calling her 'darling,' and 'sweetheart'—could not be wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her close. Her little red mouth fell into an unbelieving 'o' and Paul leaned forward and kissed her on it.

He drew away long enough to take the faded lavender paper from his pocket. "My letter!" Norma cried, snatching it from his hand. It was old and stained and faded—but it was her letter. He _had_ read it—he _had_! She began to shake, and whether it was from shock or joy she did not know. And she did not care.

"Dear heart," Paul was saying, tenderly, oh! So tenderly, "You can't know what this letter has meant to me. You don't hate me, do you? You _couldn't_ hate me and still have written that. Tell me Norma, _do _you hate me? Darling, if you did—it would break my heart."

"I did hate you—for so long," Norma said dazedly. "But only—because—I thought you did not care."

"And now," said Paul, snuggling her close. "You know I do. Dear, I've loved you for a long, long time—longer than you know. So you don't have to hate me any more, Norma—Norma darling—_my_ Norma! Tell me again—you do love me, don't you? You must tell me so, even if it is only way down, underneath."

He drew her close and kissed her again. And in between embraces Norma whispered shamelessly that she did—she did—she _did_. And always would.


	20. Chapter 20

Mrs. David Dark really could not be a happier woman. The day that the engagement between Paul Penhallow and Norma Dark was announced, she felt as though she had attained the pinnacle of mother-hood. The Peter Penahallows might be an odd strain of the family—and there was that Spanish blood to think about, you know—but they were rich. And there was the not-so-small matter of Paul's V.C.

"I always knew little Norma would marry well," she gushed to anyone who would listen. "_Some _folks put her down, because they thought Adrienne was prettier. Well! I won't deny that Ady's a pretty gal, but Norma—I've always thought there was something special about Norma."

Norma, who once would have given the world for a little of her mother's love, found that it mattered little to her now. What did her mother's fair-weather affection matter when she had _all_ of Paul's love? She was gently kind to her mother when she might have pointed out that Mrs. David had in actuality, treated Norma very poorly until only a few days ago. She might as well be sweet to the old broad for the time being.

"In a few months, you won't have to deal with that nasty old cat anymore," said Paul, putting his arm around her and drawing her to his chest. "I've already found a little love-nest for us, chickie. Up the shore in a little place called Avonlea—picturesque, but sweet, and made sweeter by the fact that the names of Penhallow and Dark mean nothing there."

The only person who was not well-pleased by the match was Drowned John. "Imagine me having to be in-laws with old David Dark," he grumbled. "And his wife! Devil of a woman—with a wart on the end of her nose!"

As for Minnie Penhallow—well, she was pleased for Paul. Of course she had hoped for greater things for him than Norma. But he was so happy, that all of her petty thoughts of herself faded in the light of his joy. Only—he was going to go so far away. She might be able to stand other folks' disapproval if she had Paul near her. But he was going. What would become of Minnie without him?She went out onto the front porch and sighed as she looked across the shabby little yard to the road going by.

Presently, Cliff Dark came ambling along on that aforementioned road. He was looking particularly glum that day—it was common knowledge throughout the clan that Alex Margoldsby had turned him down, and that though he had come crawling back on his knees, Rebecca would not have him, either. Cliff just didn't understand it. What girl wouldn't want to be his wife?

He was beginning to doubt his charms, of which he had been well-assured for most of his life. Perhaps he wasn't so wonderful, after all. Perhaps he wasn't so swell.

He saw Minnie Penhallow on the front porch with her chin in her hands, and on a whim went over to the gate, and called to her. "Hey! Min!"

She looked up, her eyes very bright in her pale face. "Oh. Cliff. Hello."

She settled her chin back in her hands, and Cliff felt a pang of despair. If silly, insipid Miranda Penhallow wouldn't give him the time of day, what hope did he have with other girls? Still, he was not ready to throw in the towel. Cliff put his hands in his pockets and waited. Minnie decided to take pity on him.

"It's so hot today, isn't it? For early spring?"

"Yes—far hotter down here than at Treewoofe," Cliff boasted. But Minnie sat up, suddenly electrified. She narrowed her eyes and looked at Cliff again.

He was not especially handsome, but he was not bad looking. The Hugh Darks were a well-respected branch of the family tree. Why, Hugh had even held political office! Minnie sat up a little straighter at the thought.

And then there was Treewoofe. How majestic Treewoofe was compared to the paint-peely squalor of Drowned John's hovel! Even with Cliff as one of its inhabitants—puffed-up, moon-eyed Cliff—Minnie still felt a little shiver when she thought of Treewoofe.

Minnie knew that he was still reeling from Alex Margoldsby's defection and Rebecca's cold shoulder. What was the right line to take with a man like Cliff? Minnie made her eyes very large and her voice very small.

"Oh, Cliff," she sighed, holding her little white hand appealingly against her throat. "You are so right, you know. Treewoofe is so airy and cool. Do you know," her voice became low and confidential, "I've always considered it to be my _very favorite place_ in all the world?"

Cliff rocked back on his heels, feeling chuffed. Minnie lowered her lashes to hide the rising excitement in her eyes. She willed a pink blush to rise in her cheeks.

"There is—one reason—why I've liked it so much—but I couldn't possibly tell _you_."

Cliff, enticed, wanted to know what that reason was.

"Well," Minnie began hesitantly. "Oh, Cliff! I suppose it's because you're there!"

And that was all it took. Cliff, who had always considered Minnie Penhallow to be a pale, inconsequential creature, suddenly saw her as having all of the qualities of a goddess. He grasped her hand.

"Do you think I'm wonderful, little Minnie?" he asked, making his voice caressingly low.

"Yes," said Minnie positively, wondering if Cliff knew how much like a moony cow he looked when he tried to be romantic.

"Then we'll be married." Cliff was certain. "How does that sound to you, Min?"

"Wonderful," Minnie pronounced. And it _did_ sound wonderful. She, Minnie Penhallow, would be mistress of Treewoofe, the grandest house in the area saving only Beechurst. Of course, it would mean dealing with Cliff on a daily basis, but…

"I can handle that," thought Minnie positively. "I'll tell him he's wonderful six times a day and he'll be as contented as a cat that has cream." She tried not to grimace as he covered her hand with moist kisses. Oh—well, it wasn't really _that_ bad. She must try and get used to it, if she was going to be his wife. Oh, _what_ was Clifford saying?

"I daresay we'll be happy together." Cliff drew her near and Minnie's lips curved in a contented smile.

"Deliriously happy," she agreed.

And it must be said that they _were_ quite happy, when all was said and done—perhaps even happier than other couples, who had married for as silly as thing as love.


	21. Chapter 21

It was the eighteenth of June. The roses were out in Rose River, the air was golden and sweet and the sun was warm and pleasant overhead. It had been an eventful month for the district—what will the engagements of Norma Dark and Paul Penhallow, and Minnie Penhallow and Cliff Dark—not to mention Alexandra Margoldsby and her beau in St. John's. Oh, Nan had sent them all formal announcements for _that_—engraved, even! Such extravagance! As if anyone cared what _that_ branch of the family did.

Hugh Dark was seriously considering running for Premier. Margaret Penhallow had taken up her poetry again and had had a series of sonnets published in a Yankee newspaper. Brain Dark's wife had had not twins, but triplets! The Dark and Penhallow environs were an eventful place that time of year.

But hardly anyone noticed. They were all too busy speculating.

Stanton Grundy met Rebecca Penhallow on the road and stopped her. "You've got to make your choice, soon," he told her gleefully. "I suppose it's not going to be Young Sam after all, is it? _He's_ still crazy about that little cat, Nelle. But I put ten dollars on him away back in April—won't you reconsider him after all?"

Rebecca said nothing. She looked very sick and green about the gills as she hurried home to Beechurst. She locked herself in her room for the whole of Friday night and would not come out, not even for dinner. In two days she would have to stand up before the whole of her clan and declare her choice. She felt ill just _thinking_ about it!

Roger tapped on his daughter's door. He felt badly for the child. What he had wanted to be a lighthearted romp was obviously wearing on her tender spirit. Why, he wanted Becky to get married—but not at this cost! She was thin as a rail, and her eyes were large and worried.

"You don't have to go through with it, 'Becca," he told her. "Why, we'll just tell everyone the bet is off. They're sure to understand."

But Rebecca did not think that they would understand. If she refused to state a name on Sunday there would almost certainly be riot and bedlam throughout the clan. They would never forgive her.

"And I would never forgive myself," she said piteously. "I _promised_, Father, after all. I shall just have to stand up and say _something_."

There were a good many members of the clan who did not frequent the church as often as they should, but that morning, all were in attendance. The little Presbyterian church was crammed to bursting with Darks and Penhallows in their finery. Even Drowned John was there, his hands folded over his large belly. He looked content—he was sure that Rebecca would pick Neil Penhallow, and his certainty surprised the members of his family. Why, as far as they knew, Rebecca had never said word one to Neil, who lived thirty miles away at Tigny and was almost forty to boot. But Drowned John was certain, for reasons that eluded them.

Brian Dark was there, and he looked sympathetic. He said to anyone who would listen that he thought it was a hard situation for poor Becky. The others glared at him. Why _would_ he take the fun out of the situation by being understanding?

Paul Penhallow was sitting with his arm around Norma in the David Dark pew. Every so often he would lean in to whisper against her ear and she would let loose with a peal of laughter that rose high and bright over the din. They shook their heads at them. Many of the clan still believed that Paul should be Rebecca's choice; the other half thought it was positively indecent too look so in love—and in a church, too!

Minnie was looking adoringly up at Cliff. Gladys Penhallow was applying a generous coat of pink to her lips. Nelle Dark was avoiding looking at Young Sam and he at her. Jasper Dark alone was sitting quietly, a small rueful sort of smile playing at his lips. No one thought to notice Jasper in all the storm and fury of the occasion—but Gladys, looking up, caught sight of him and thought again what a pity it was he was so ugly!

The doors were suddenly thrown open to a burst of sunlight and there—_there_—was Rebecca, looking paler and frailer than they had ever expected she might look. Thekla Dark thought for the first time that Rebecca really resembled poor Gay. She had thought the child was all Roger—but how wan and consumptive she looked now!

The organist left off in the middle of 'Nearer My God to Thee' and even the reverend looked interested as Becky walked up the aisle alone and climbed the steps to the pulpit. She was wearing a new green suit and a delightful little hat—"I'll buy you twelve hats just like it," Paul whispered to Norma. Rebecca took her place and looked out for a moment over the congregation.

Her eyes were fearful and she chewed her lips nervously. "Won't she speak?" wondered Uncle Pippin. "What's the matter, child—cat got your tongue?"

That caused a sudden flush of color to spring to Rebecca's cheeks but she refused to be baited. She did not meet Uncle Pippin's eyes. Instead she stared straight ahead and said something in a low tone.

"Speak up, darn it!" cried Drowned John, who was sitting toward the back. They all clucked at him. It wasn't swearing, of course, but it was close—and in a church, too!

Rebecca clasped her hands at her waist to stop them shaking and began again.

"One year ago I told all of you that today I would choose from among our Dark and Penhallow boys who it was I wanted to marry," she began primly, as if she were reciting a lesson. "And so, I suppose I shall have to, for I mean to keep my word."

She paused and an electric thrill went through the listeners. There had never been anything like this before in the history of the clan—not even Aunt Becky's jug had come close. They leaned forward, rapt with interest.

"I have gotten the chance to become acquainted with a good many of you," said Rebecca, addressing the row of potential suitors at the front of the church. They all looked at one another—the moment of reckoning was almost upon them. "I have found out a good many things. The first is that though _some_ of you are handsome, _most_ of you are very stupid in one way or another."

William Y. Penhallow guffawed. It was true enough, he thought.

"Even so," Rebecca went on, "I could see myself marrying a few of you—except that—oh, I don't love you! There is only one person I have ever loved, and I am sure—sure—that he has never thought of me!"

The church was so still you could hear a pin drop.

"He has never come to visit me, not once," said Rebecca in a low voice. Two spots of color had come out on her cheeks. "He never made any overtures toward me—he never tried to make love to me at all. But _he_ is the man for me. I shan't keep quiet about it any longer! Jasper! Jasper Dark! Oh, darling, I love you—_can't_ you love me, too?"

All heads turned to look at Jasper, who had half-risen from his seat at the sound of his name and then frozen at the declaration of love. He looked so ridiculous—his mismatched eyes wide with disbelief, his ugly mouth agape. But—Becky—Roger's Becky—had chosen him? No one knew quite what to think.

"It's _got_ to be a joke," said Stanton Grundy quite clearly.

But Rebecca looked earnest. She found Jasper and beseeched him with her eyes.

"We used to be such friends, when we were young," she said, and it was as though the rest of them had faded away, and she was speaking only to him. "You would come to Beechurst and we would read out under the beeches. I was just a little girl, Jasper, but I loved you then. And you have never showed me any love—because you don't love me! Oh, my darling, say you do! I shall be the happiest girl on earth! It's _you_ I want, Jasper—you, and no other!"

"DAMMIT!" roared Drowned John in shock. He had thought to the end that it would be Neil, and now, thwarted, he could not suppress his roar. But no one paid him any mind—not even the minister. They were all watching to see what Jasper would do next.

He stood—pulling himself to his full height—and pushed his way past the knees of the others in his pew until he had reached the aisle. Rebecca implored him with her eyes. He began to limp up to the altar and when he had reached it she came down from the pulpit to meet him. Jasper held out his hand and Rebecca took it.

"I never tried to love you because I supposed it would be in vain," he told her. "Rebecca—darling—I have loved you all my life. But I never supposed that you would—that you could—love me back."

"I do—I do—I do!" cried Rebecca shamelessly. And then Jasper drew her near and kissed her in front of the whole stunned congregation.

"Who would have thought it would have been Jasper?" asked Uncle Pippin sadly to Drowned John.

"Not me," whispered Drowned John back.

The other were too surprised to do anything much. They opened their hymnbooks and the service began. Roger seemed bemused but good-natured about it. Thekla Dark wept openly at the thought of her son being married. Norma smiled at Paul.

"I hope they will be as happy as we are," she said.

"They will," Paul promised. "Jas is a good sort."

Only old Junius Penhallow was perfectly happy in the result. He had put all of his money on Jasper long ago, when the odds were 100 to 1 in his favor. He looked down at his threadbare suit and congratulated himself on his good luck. At that moment, he thought he was quite the luckiest man in the world.

"But he's not," whispered Jasper to Rebecca. "_I _am."

Her eyes shone up at him. She could not speak for joy.


End file.
